


Brassed Off Calendar Girls do the Full Monty in Camelot

by Camelittle



Category: Brassed Off (1996), Calendar Girls, Full Monty (1997), Merlin (TV)
Genre: ABBA, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Brass Band, Angst, Angst and Humor, Banter, Brass band nerdery, Crack, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I can't help myself, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Plot bunnies ate my brain, Porn With Plot, Purple Flugelhorn, Rape/Non-con References, Yorkshire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albion Brass Band Amateurs (ABBA for short) have got financial problems, and some key players have deserted them, 3 months before the main Yorkshire contest. The band fishes around for money-raising ideas. Enter lanky, flugel-playing Irishman Merlin Emrys, and spoilt, classically-trained trumpeter Arthur Pendragon. It's hate (i.e. lust) at first sight. </p><p>Or: The cast of Merlin meets Brassed Off meets Calendar Girls meets the Full Monty in a glorious Yorkshire homage. With Yorkshire beer! A musical director who calls everyone "Love"! And a purple flugelhorn! I might even insert whippets. You have been warned. Contains some ripe language and explicit descriptions of typical band-room banter. Ayup!</p><p>Past off-stage non-con episodes and their consequences are described by the affected characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Voulez Vous?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albion Brass Band Amateurs are in financial trouble. Can Merlin and Arthur overcome their mutual loathing to bring about a miraculous recovery? Can the intimidating musical director, Kahill Garah, with his indiscriminate use of endearments, help them to reconcile their different musical styles?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur’s eyes narrowed. His gaze bore into Merlin as if he was a cockroach, to be pinned into a beetle collection, in order to complete a range of more attractive and interesting, but equally dead beetles.

Merlin clutched Gloria, carefully stowed away in her hand-painted, purple-and-gold instrument case, and inhaled the foggy Yorkshire air.

Yorkshire!

Stoical, no-nonsense Yorkshire, spiritual home of the brass band movement, and mother to four of the top ten brass bands in the world - one of which, Albion Brass Band Amateurs (ABBA for short), last year’s national champions, had just extended an invitation to Merlin Emrys to fill their newly-vacant flugelhorn chair.

A permanent broad grin had plastered itself all over his face ever since Uncle Gaius had called him with the news. He’d managed to secure a transfer to Camelot University, based in the same scruffy industrial town as the band, to finish his physiotherapy course.

And here he was at his first rehearsal. He eyed the band-room door. It had “ABBA” crudely stencilled on it in gold letters. He immediately felt at home.

An insanely good-looking bloke, with just-out-of-bed hair, artfully dishevelled goatee and a roguish grin, walked up to the band-room door. He was clutching a large instrument case, which sported a sticker that proclaimed ‘Brass players do it with their lips, fingers and tongues’. In his other hand a smaller instrument case stated proudly “I’ll blow your horn if you'll blow mine”.

Merlin held the door open with an appreciative smile as this walking advertisement for male hair product clattered through. He’d known he was going to enjoy the sound effects, playing brass in Yorkshire, but not that the scenery was going to be so decorative. 

‘Well hello!’ the man greeted him with a flirtatious leer at Merlin’s spare frame. ‘I’m Gwaine. First Baritone. My horn is looking forward to playing with yours already.’ And he leaned in close, crowding Merlin’s personal space.

‘Merlin,’ he replied, blushing furiously at Gwaine’s shameless flirting. He held Gloria, still hidden away in her case, high in front of him as a protective shield. “F….f…. flugel,”

“Gwaine, stop frightening the new recruit,” said a melodious female voice. As Merlin entered the band room a dark-eyed, dimple-smiled woman came towards him, all tumbling ringlets. She extended a hand.

“I’m Gwen. Please ignore Gwaine,” she warned, leaning in conspiratorially and talking in a loud whisper. ”He’s even more disreputable than he looks. Rumour has it he’s contagious. Try not to go too near him.”

“Oi!” Gwaine protested, mock-hurt. “I am here, you know, hearing intact.”

Merlin laughed, just as three pretty women entered the room. They sent him curious glances as they walked through the door, each carrying a lurid pink trombone case. The cases were labelled “Bone 1”, “Bone 2” and “Bass Bone”.

“Evening Sophia, hi Elena, hi Mithian,” leered Gwaine. “Busy later ladies? Because I am going to be WIDE awake after this rehearsal and would love some company to help lull me to sleep, you know what I mean?” The three girls rolled their eyes in comical unison and one of them, a blond girl with perfectly manicured fingernails, made an obscene gesture with the middle finger of her free hand.

“Swivel on this, matey,” she said without rancour, and Gwaine and the other trombone players laughed.

_Right,_  thought Merlin.  _Clearly this band has a robust and forthright attitude towards unwelcome advances, and the fending off thereof._  Not that advances from Gwaine would necessarily be unwelcome, he amended hastily.

He sat on the chair Gwen indicated as the band room filled up. Albion band was arranged with the flugelhorn player facing the principal cornet; the conductor stood between the two. Gwen settled in the principal cornet chair, so she was sitting right opposite Merlin, smiling reassuringly. Shortly afterwards a stunningly gorgeous, dark-eyed man settled next to Merlin, clutching a tenor-horn. He introduced himself as Lance, solo horn, and proceeded to gaze longingly at Gwen.

Merlin sighed inwardly. Clearly he wasn’t going to have any luck with Lance. Not that he was here to pull. Obviously. He carefully drew Gloria out of her case. Lance glanced at her.  
  
"Wow, mate, never seen a horn that colour before!"  
  
"Glorious, isn't she?" said Merlin proudly.  
  


"My horn would go that colour if Merlin touched it with his lips, too," leered Gwaine. Merlin and Lance laughed. 

Merlin smiled and waved when Uncle Gaius came in and sat in the principal euphonium chair. Gaius arched an eyebrow in reply. Behind him, Merlin was surprised to see Freya settle down, hiding behind a tuba. He hadn’t known that Freya was in the band, nor that she would feel comfortable in such a crowded room. He lifted his hand in a wave, and she stared at him, a little shocked to see him out of context before returning a shy smile.

But there was no time to chat. The remaining players had been filing in, and the band room was nearly full, with only the assistant principal’s chair vacant. The players were busy oiling valves, greasing tuning slides, inserting mouthpieces and blowing warm air into their instruments as the conductor, an Asian man of indeterminate age with a dark grey beard, fierce eyebrows and a wrinkly bald pate, entered the room. He was followed by a stern-faced older man, who had a weary air of command, and a scar on his forehead.

At that moment Merlin could have sworn that the lights dimmed and violins started to play as a golden-haired, golden-skinned Adonis thrust through the door, fleshy pink lips drawn up into a sarcastic sneer, jaw hewn by legions of skilled chisel-wielders, expensive t-shirt clinging to finely honed pectorals.

Merlin’s jaw dropped and he flushed to the roots of his hair. He hastily moved Gloria onto his lap, and resisted the temptation to curve his neck round to check out the bloke’s arse.

The blond carried on a hissed conversation with the older, scar-faced man who had preceded him. Mid-sentence he caught Merlin gazing at him, and smirked. If his lip had curled up any further it’d have been half way up his right nostril. Merlin caught the words “classically trained, better things to do” and instantly bristled.

_Right,_  thought Merlin.  _Obviously Blondie, as well as being a perfect physical specimen, is a fully-paid-up elitist orchestral-music Mafioso come to look down his nose at the working-class brass-playing fraternity. Fuck ‘im._  Protective hackles rose.

Merlin squashed his treacherous libido, which was urging him to smile ‘come hither’, and instead scowled at the gorgeous, privileged, posh, blond bastard, now permanently dubbed “Blondie” in his head. Assigning this moniker to the git was an affront to his beloved Debbie Harry, but he couldn’t think of anything better to call the bastard at this point. Blondie returned the scowl with a venomous leer, and made his way to the assistant principal cornet seat next to Gwen.

The scar-faced older bloke who’d come in with Blondie coughed and all 30 players fell silent.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. To those of you that don’t know me, let me introduce myself; I am Uther Pendragon, Chairman of this band and CEO of your sponsors, Camelot Coal. Welcome to the band.

“I have some… unfortunate… news for you. A number of players and our conductor, Morgana Le Fay, hearing of the financial crisis at Camelot Coal, have resigned in anticipation that this crisis may negatively affect the band’s viability. We suspect that Morgause has lured them to join Mercia Mills Band. As you know this will cause some problems for us as we prepare for the Yorkshire Area Contest which is in only 3 months’ time.”

Cat-calls and boos, rapidly ssshed. Uther frowned.

“However, we are very fortunate to have been able to source, at short notice, an excellent flugelhorn player to replace Viviane; Gaius’s nephew Merlin has recently moved here from Ealdor, where he played flugel for Irish national champions Ealdor Silver Band. Please extend a warm welcome to him.”

Cheers and claps at this, and a wolf-whistle from Gwaine. Merlin grinned self-consciously as he acknowledged his applause. Lance clapped him on the back – he nearly overbalanced but managed to restore himself in time to look directly into Blondie’s amused eyes. While no-one was looking, Blondie winked at him and Merlin suppressed a smile, despite himself. Uther cleared his throat and continued.

“*Ahem* … in view of Morgana’s …*ahem*… somewhat precipitous departure, we have appointed the distinguished Dr Kahill Garah as Musical Director.”

Polite applause as the Asian gentleman bowed, eyebrows rising, pate wrinkling.

“My son, Arthur, who is a professional classical trumpeter, recently graduated from the Royal College of Music, will be joining you as a replacement for Niniane.”

Arthur had a plain black, but very expensive-looking gig bag, labelled “Excalibur” in gold lettering, from which he withdrew a top-of-the-range, lovingly-polished trumpet. It stood out from the nest of cornets like a sore, brassy thumb. Several bandsmen frowned. Merlin snorted.  
  


“What kind of an arse brings a trumpet to a brass band rehearsal?” Merlin muttered at Lance, loudly enough for Arthur to overhear. Lance shrugged and shook his head.

Hearing this, Arthur’s eyes narrowed. His gaze bore into Merlin as if he was a cockroach, to be pinned into a beetle collection, in order to complete a range of more attractive and interesting, but equally dead beetles.

“Arthur has not had an opportunity to work with a brass band before,” Uther continued. “As a former cornet player myself, I am delighted that he is doing so now.” Uther stood down and gestured to Gwaine, who stood and extracted an old but serviceable Besson cornet from his shabby-looking second instrument case and walked over to Arthur with it.

“Here you go Princess,” said Gwaine, winking at Arthur. “We can’t make beautiful music together with a horn that shape,” he nodded at Excalibur and nudged Arthur with a leer. “You’ll be needing one of these instead. She’s a right lovely blow, is Cinderella here, with her Vincent Bach mouthpiece nestling snugly in her tight little hole…”

“Gwaine!” hissed Gwen indignantly. “Juniors present!” Merlin saw that a spotty-faced teenage boy, seated at the far end of the third cornet desk, was listening to Gwaine with wide-eyed interest.

“What? I didn’t say anything!” professed Gwaine, with innocent puppy-dog eyes. Merlin snorted as a titter rippled round the band room.

Arthur took the cornet with a suspicious sneer, but replaced Excalibur carefully in its case and picked up Cinderella.  
  


Meanwhile Uther resumed his speech, exhorting the band to do their best for the new conductor and to beat Mercia Mills at the area contest at all costs. “Are there any questions?”

The soprano cornet player, clearly visible behind Gwen by virtue of his towering height, raised his hand timidly.

“Yes, Percival?”

“Excuse me Mr Pendragon. Does this financial crisis mean we won’t be able to afford a new soprano cornet? It’s just that this one’s a bit past its sell-by-date!” He lifted his tiny instrument, which looked severely mangled.  
  
“You’re meant to play it Perce, not eat it,” called out a bass player, hidden behind his enormous instrument.

“Fuck off Leon. At least I haven’t chosen an instrument whose size is meant to compensate for...”

“Boys!  Juniors present!” scolded Gwen. The men subsided into exchanging obscene hand gestures. “Sorry Mordred,” muttered Percival to the innocent-faced teenager. The deep-voiced conductor spoke now, accent from Delhi via Bradford.

“A’ right then my loves. Please turn to number 10 in the hymn books. Pay attention to tuning, dynamics and ensemble.” And with that the rehearsal began. 

After some hymn tunes and warm-ups Kahill fixed Arthur and Merlin with his alarming dark eyes and said “Well, let’s see how our new boys gel together shall we. Merlin, love, let’s hear you play Gabriel’s Oboe. Arthur, love, you play the intro and all the non-flugel solos. From the top.”

Merlin breathed in ready for his flugel solo entry. He enjoyed playing this piece – it was not technically difficult, but required a delicacy of tone that really showcased the mellow tones of a flugelhorn. He lingered on the trills and flourishes, felt the background music swell and die away around him. As he reached the end of the solo he saw Kahill’s nod of approval.

Arthur missed his cue. Kahill stopped the band with a tap of his conductors baton; Merlin tutted.

“Obviously they don’t teach them how to count at the RCM” he whispered, loudly enough for Arthur to hear. Arthur flushed and looked away. Lance tried and failed not to chuckle, earning himself a frown from Gwen and he subsided, mortified.

They played the whole piece through once.

“Aye, good, lyrical playing Merlin,” said Kahill, “but you got a bit carried away – elbows were out a bit,” he gesticulated with his elbows to illustrate his point. “Great tone, but out of time with the rest of the band. Concentrate, love.”

He turned to Arthur.

“Arthur, please count,” said Kahill, not unkindly, “Also, it’s too aggressive and too precise. Too trumpety. You’re not playing a trumpet here, love. Playing a cornet is making love, playing a trumpet is just fucking. I’m sure you understand the difference?”

“Juniors present, juniors present!” protested Gwen, furiously. Merlin choked; Lance thumped his back; the girls on trombone giggled. Arthur’s face was scarlet, a picture of mixed fury and humiliation as he put Gwaine’s instrument back to his lips.

The next run-through was flawless. Merlin and Arthur exchanged smiles of grudging respect afterwards as the rest of the band clapped and said “well done”.

Kahill gestured to the band to quieten down.

“Well done lads, nicely played,” he said. “Arthur, you tend to play with your head, sticking a little bit too rigidly to the score. Let the music out. Merlin, you play from the heart and take terrible liberties with the score. You need to maintain an accurate tempo. I think it’ll do you good working together and learning from each other. You need both head and heart to be a great player.” Both Merlin and Arthur rolled their eyes.

“Ok, time to get serious. Let’s get the contest piece out and have a run through. 'Harmony Music' please.” And the band got down to work.


	2. Knowing Me, Knowing You (Aha!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band goes to the pub after Band Practice in the time-honoured fashion. Arthur spars verbally with Merlin. UST ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You know, Merlin” he drawled, looking Merlin up and down, “I really don’t think that I would class a scrawny, bat-eared, talentless, scruffy idiot like you as a *mate* - now or ever, really. So just fly back up to your cave or wherever it is you hang from, ok?”

“Coming to the pub Arthur?” said the tall, bearded tuba player after band practice—Leon, was it?

“Yeah, ok.” said Arthur, noncommittal, pride warring with curiosity.

He’d actually enjoyed the rehearsal, despite the humiliation of the instrument exchange and missed cue. He had thought that playing in a brass band would be a chore, all Souza marches and “Oom Pah Oom Pah”, and had been pleasantly surprised by the breadth of the musical repertoire, and the stamina required by two hours of near constant playing.

He hadn’t been prepared for the spine-tingling sound that a top class brass band can generate, nor for the spectacularly mellow tones that a snarky, snake-hipped, long-limbed Irishman could tease out of a flugelhorn with full, blush-pink lips.

From his seat he’d had an excellent view as Merlin had prepped those lips for his solo. The boy had unselfconsciously licked them as he inhaled, pushing them out into a pout, stretching them forward with his tongue, and pulling them back wide into a closed-lipped smile, before he lovingly pressed the horn to his mouth, delicate tongue-tip gently moistening the mouthpiece. The long fingers of his left hand were wrapped gently round the valve cases; the middle three fingers of his right hand formed an elegant arch, ready to flutter skilfully through the trills and arpeggios. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault he’d found this display, together with the trembling sound of Merlin’s vibrato, so distracting that he’d lost count and missed his cue.

The test piece was a modern composition that the band would need to play—in competition with all the other championship candidates in Yorkshire—at the next contest. It was a monstrous technical challenge, a real work-out for the embouchure, with flashing moments of lyrical beauty. It was possible, he admitted to himself, that playing cornet in a brass band may turn out to be even more fun than playing trumpet in a symphony orchestra. There was certainly a lot more playing time involved, his lip was killing him.

There were other perks of this gig. The band, with the possible exception of Gaius, was unfeasibly good-looking, and a lot more down to earth than his orchestra, most of whom turned their noses up at the brass section anyway.

So yeah, pride could take a hike. He was coming to the pub.

“Can I come?” piped up a treble voice. Arthur turned to see a wide-eyed teenage boy trotting along after him, Percival and Leon as they walked across to the Rising Sun.

“No Mordred, you’re too young,” replied Leon automatically. Mordred scowled and ran off.

Arthur was at the bar getting a round in when that infuriating Irish flugel-playing git Merlin walked in and joined him at the bar.

“Hey,” said Merlin, all conciliatory smiles and Northern Irish charm. When he smiled, he beamed, mouth stretched wide, dark blue eyes twinkling like the sea on a summer’s day before disappearing into upturned half-moons; Arthur forgot himself for a moment as he bathed in the warm glow. “I guess we got off on the wrong foot, a bit, but I just wanted to say well played tonight, mate, your technique in the test piece was amazin’.” He held out a hand to shake.

Merlin’s voice was deep and mellifluous, his accent dense and lilting, Arthur was annoyed to discover. Arthur scowled even as his treacherous body encouraged him to lean closer to listen. He hadn’t forgotten the sardonic whispered remarks aimed in his direction from the band room. He treated Merlin to his most glacial stare. Merlin dropped his hand, flushing in humiliation, and the smile left his eyes like the sun going behind a cloud.

Arthur felt suddenly ashamed, as if he’d just kicked a baby deer, which was really irritating, because firstly he’d never kicked a baby deer, and so had no idea what that would look like, and secondly it hadn’t been his fault that Merlin had distracted him from his cue earlier, and the boy really needed to be taught a lesson, although Arthur wasn’t sure exactly what lesson that was yet. And to stop looking at him like he’d just insulted his mother. To hide his confusion Arthur gave Merlin the benefit of his full attention for a moment.

“You know, Merlin” he drawled, looking Merlin up and down, “I really don’t think that I would class a scrawny, bat-eared, talentless, scruffy idiot like you as a *mate* - now or ever, really. So just fly back up to your cave or wherever it is you hang from, ok?”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. And why was it that every time Merlin entered the room, Arthur’s eyes were drawn to his mouth?

“Fine,” spat this mouth eventually, an elegant index finger extending to prod Arthur in the pectorals, the cheeky bastard. “I’ve no desire to have a pompous, ignorant prick with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement as a mate either. And really – big ear jokes? Is that the best you can do?”

Arthur raised a mocking lip. He batted Merlin’s hand away. “It’s funny,” he said. “You’re such a skinny, sharp-limbed tentpole of a boy. Your elbows were waggling out so far during your solo,” Arthur illustrated this point with an elbow-waggle of his own, “I was convinced you were going to stab Lance with one of them. I was seriously concerned for his safety.”

Arthur nodded along with his story. Merlin’s lips twitched.

“Wait, Arthur, you fat-headed, uptight, prissy wind-bag, didn’t anyone ever tell you never to engage in a war of words with an Irishman? We’re rumoured to have the gift of the gab, after all.”

Arthur’s lips twitched too and he squeezed his stomach to stop the laughter bubbling up.

“Merlin, you don’t have the gift of the gab. You have the gift of an imbecilic, dull-witted gnat brain.”

“And you, Arthur, are a repressed, neurotic, anally retentive numbskull – someone’s shoved a pickle so far up your arse I’m surprised you can even mince!” and Merlin demonstrated his best mincing technique, pouting, buttocks clenched, wrist lifted high, to add emphasis to his words. “I don’t know what’s softer, your wits or your stomach!” Merlin snorted, voice cracking with merriment.

And that was it- Merlin’s mince just finished him off. Arthur’s laugh exploded from him as he doubled over, tears of laughter leaking from his eyes, Merlin barking a surprised chortle out in response.

“OK Arthur,” Merlin choked finally, “I’d love to play with you all evening, but I’ve got to take the others their drinks,” and he took a sip of his vodka-and-cranberry before adding “your flies are undone, by the way,” and gesturing towards Arthur’s groin. It only took a split second for Arthur to look down to check and realise he’d been duped as Merlin walked off towards Lance, Gwaine and Gwen, chuckling and muttering “arse” under his breath. Arthur found himself filled with a strange and unaccountable delight as he flicked a V-sign at Merlin’s retreating, firm-buttocked rear.

He turned back to Leon and Percival, who’d been watching this exchange with amusement.

“One-nil to the Irish team, I think,” said Leon. “So Arthur, what brings you to Camelot?” he continued, as Arthur gulped ruefully at his pint of Timothy Taylor Landlord, swiping his lips with the back of his hands to remove the froth. God, the beer in Yorkshire was like nectar.

“I’ve come to help my father out with the family business.” Arthur pulled a face. “I was trying to break into a professional orchestra in London but Father needs me here.”

Leon nodded. “Well, it’s really great to have you here,” he said. “We’re trying to raise some funds and it’d be good if you could join in with us. We’ve got a concert coming up in a few weeks, and we’ve got a gala football match between Albion and rival Mercia this weekend. We’ve lost a key player…”

“Morgana?”

Leon was surprised. “Do you know her?”

“She’s my half sister. Father went ballistic when she left Camelot Coal,” frowned Arthur. “God knows how you put up with her in the team for so long. She’s a good player, but selfish.

“So will you play instead? We need a striker…” said Leon

“Well, I’m actually better in midfield,” said Arthur. “If you have some players you can send forwards, I’m pretty good at making sure they get the ball. Anyway, I’d love to play. Beating Morgana at football is my favourite way of spending a Saturday morning.”

Gwen’s brother Elyan and a couple of the attractive ladies from the trombone section of the band joined the conversation – one of whom, Mithian, was apparently their secret weapon on the wing, while another, Elena, was a useful striker. The rest of the evening passed in an animated discussion of tactics and the upcoming fundraising concert.


	3. Does Your Mother Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is a tease. Arthur is drooling. Percival is a cock-blocker. UST like whoa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin lifted the orange, impaled on his hand, to his lips; he held Arthur’s gaze and let the tip of his tongue emerge to lick a drop of juice from the place where his fingers disappeared into its flesh. Juice ran down Merlin’s forearm and he chased it to the elbow with his long tongue, watching Arthur’s reaction. Arthur crossed his legs and moved his lunchbox further up his lap. At last Merlin inserted his thumb, split the orange in half and tore off a segment.
> 
> “Want some?” he mouthed at Arthur, proffering said segment.
> 
> Oh yes, Arthur wanted some all right.

Kahill called an all-day rehearsal on the Sunday before the concert. The band assembled at 11am in the band room, grumbling at the early hour. Arthur, as usual, sat down three minutes later than everyone else, accompanied by much grumbling and rolling of the eyes from Merlin. Kahill wanted to run through the test piece, then the band would stop for a brief picnic lunch before running through the rest of the concert program.

The test piece didn’t go too well first time through.

“Excuse me Kahill,” said Gaius, “can we just run through my solo again please? I think I split every note.”

“Aye, love, I can see that. You’ve blown a hole right through the ceiling,” chuckled Kahill. “Pucker up, lad. You’ll need to squeeze everything together to get that top note, now. Let’s try that again shall we.”

Their lips were all sore when they broke for lunch and everyone stayed in their chairs to munch their sandwiches. Kahill perched on the conductor’s stool to work his way through a large bag of samosas.

As Arthur chatted to Gwen about the concert program for the following weekend, he watched Merlin, one leg folded across the other, take an orange out of his bag. Merlin skilfully carved a small “o” in the side of the orange peel with a long thumbnail, and then pressed both thumbs to the peel, inserting them gently under it up to the first knuckle. He looked up at Arthur and smiled coquettishly through his lashes when he saw that Arthur was watching him. He held Arthur’s gaze as he gently slid his thumbs under the skin to remove the peel, and, once peeled, inserted his forefinger into the puckered hole at the top of the orange, covering it in juice. Arthur’s eyes widened when Merlin removed his finger from the orange, lined it up along his lips, and pressed it between them into his mouth, sucking it in up to the second knuckle until hollows appeared under knife-sharp cheekbones.

Arthur realised Gwen had asked him a question.

“W… w… what?” he stuttered, tearing his eyes away from Merlin. “Sorry?”

“I said, do you think you’ll be ok playing a solo on Saturday Arthur? It would be lovely if you could, it means we can show off our new talent.”

“Yes, yes, that’s a great idea,” said Arthur, not really paying attention. Merlin had now pushed two fingers into the orange and was slowly prising the segments apart. Arthur gulped when Merlin absently added a third finger and wiggled them all. Merlin lifted the orange, impaled on his hand, to his lips; he held Arthur’s gaze and let the tip of his tongue emerge to lick a drop of juice from the place where his fingers disappeared into its flesh. Juice ran down Merlin’s forearm and he chased it to the elbow with his long tongue, watching Arthur’s reaction. Arthur crossed his legs and moved his lunchbox further up his lap. At last Merlin inserted his thumb, split the orange in half and tore off a segment.

“Want some?” he mouthed at Arthur, proffering said segment.

Oh yes, Arthur wanted some all right.

He bent forward across Kahill to claim his prize orange segment, fingertips brushing Merlin’s as he accepted the offering.

“I want it all,” he whispered to Merlin, who treated him to a blinding grin and continued to watch Arthur’s conversation with Gwen through heavy-lidded eyes while he finished his orange, sucking one segment at a time into his mouth and draining it of juice.

Arthur smirked and withdrew a banana from his own lunch box but unfortunately didn’t even have time to peel it suggestively before Kahill called an end to the lunch break.

At the end of the rehearsal, Arthur brushed against Merlin as the two men moved towards the band room exit. His hand tingled where they’d touched. 

“Coming to the pub Arthur?” asked Merlin.

“Hmm, not sure that I fancy it,” said Arthur. “You?”

“I will if you will,”

“Actually, it’s not so much a drink I’m after as a snack…” said Arthur, looking intently at Merlin.

“One orange segment not enough then?” said Merlin.

“Nope. I was hoping for something a little more… substantial,” Arthur said, all traces of sarcasm gone. The two men regarded each other thoughtfully. Merlin swallowed.

“Me too,” he said quietly. And he leaned forward until his lips were almost touching Arthur’s ear, warm breath tickling as he whispered “something hot…”

Unfortunately Percival chose this very point in this highly gratifying exchange to burst into the band room and grab Arthur’s elbow firmly, propelling him towards the door and thence to the pub. There was no gainsaying Percival, he was a force of nature.

“Come on Arthur,” he cried exuberantly. “There are still 6 hours drinking time left, let’s wet your whistle. Coming Merlin?”

“Nah, think I’ll pass this time mate,” said Merlin in an amused tone. Arthur could almost feel those deep blue eyes boring into his back as Percival pushed him through the door.


	4. Thank You for the Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concert night! X-rated flugelhorn playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> '“I’m not sure it’s legal to treat an innocent flugelhorn like that, Merlin,” began Arthur in a low voice. “I think you might be flouting flugel indecency laws doing those things with your lips – in fact, I’m not sure that your lips should be allowed out alone, they’re far too dangerous,” and Merlin laughed, flushing brick red to the roots of his hair and the tips of his ears.'

It was the night of the gala concert.

Merlin followed Lance up onto the stage, flugelhorn in one hand, mute in the other, as the band filed in to stand at their places. The theatre was full this evening, he could see his flat mate Will beaming and waving at him, and Uther stern-faced in the front row. Merlin proffered a shy grin to the audience in return. Once the band was in place, Gwen came on stage and bowed to applause before standing in front of her music stand. Merlin shot a protective glance over towards Freya; she was safely hidden behind her instrument. Good thing she plays bass, he thought.

Kahill bounced on to the stage wearing a gold lamé suit – he looked like a golden lizard; a gold tooth gleaming as he beamed at the band, waving at them to sit down, before turning to the expectant crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s wonderful to be here playing to our favourite local audience tonight, welcome to our concert. In a magical program I will bedazzle, bewitch and charm you with my magic wand here,” he waved his conductors baton, “and of course with the help of my team of magicians, with their panoply of mystical instruments.” He swept a hand towards the stage.

Merlin, carefully placing his mute upon the floor, wondered what planet Kahill was on. He looked up to see Arthur trying to catch his attention, and barely concealed a snort of laughter when Arthur pointedly rolled his eyes. Gwaine bent over, ostensibly to let water out of his instrument, hand concealing his mouth; his muttered “bullshit!” disguised as a cough. By this time half the horn section was beginning to dissolve into giggles, but thankfully the audience had eyes only for the gleaming figure of Kahill.

“I… “ he paused dramatically “…am Kahill Garah,” and he ran the two words together, rolling the ‘R’ in ‘Garah,’ “and I am your musical guide on this enchanted evening. “

“As you know, in two weeks’ time we will lock horns musically with Mercia Brass Band and others at the Yorkshire Region brass band contest. The piece that we will play is ‘Harmony Music’, a fiendish challenge set by the great and terrible brass sorcerer Philip Sparke. And our quest is to play it for you this evening.”

And with a final theatrical flourish and eyebrow waggle he swivelled in his place, finger to his lips, dark eyes and gold tooth flashing in the stage lights as he settled the band down to commence.

Merlin found himself holding his breath during Gwen’s cornet cadenza, which segued seamlessly into a delicate horn cadenza, played by Lance. Neither of them once glanced at their music, instead locking eyes with one another across Kahill’s stand – and suddenly Merlin found himself agreeing with Kahill that yes, this is a kind of magic, this telepathic connection of mood and tone between two musicians, and the responding tension of the listener.

During Gaius’s euphonium solo Merlin couldn’t help watching, mesmerised, as Gaius’s eyebrows disappeared above his hairline when he played an unfeasibly high note.

The audience surged to their feet, cheering and whistling at the end of the piece and Merlin felt like punching the air. Mercia were going to be toast at the contest. 

After the interval the band kicked off with a change of mood – the cornet section put their instruments away and all took out trumpets, Arthur smirking as he pointed Excalibur at the audience, and Kahill swept the audience to their feet with an electrifying performance of Lionel Richie’s “All Night Long”. Arthur really excelled at this kind of music – confident, daring and technically demanding. Merlin waited in the wings, resting his lips and watching Arthur covertly. From the front, Arthur was perfectly still and focussed as he played – only his fingers and lips moved. However, from where Merlin was standing behind Arthur he could see, as Arthur belted out notes way above the normal limit of his instrument’s range, strong muscles rippling in Arthur’s buttocks, which were tightly caressed by his fitted black trousers.

And then it was time for Merlin to play his solo, Children of Sanchez – Chuck Mangione’s soulful flugelhorn masterpiece. The cornet players still had trumpets to their lips and they played the introduction as Merlin walked onto the stage, waving at the crowd. He had changed, during the interval, from his band uniform into a straight-legged slim-cut suit of midnight velvet, with a purple paisley cravat, and slicked his hair back into a smooth, old-fashioned “lounge-lizard” style. He flashed a showman’s smile at the audience as he approached the front of the stage and turned to play.

He drew out all the long notes in a sensuous vibrato as he played - hips forward, long legs flexing at the knee, eyes closed, loose-limbed like a marionette. He felt his way through the music, deep notes from the band thrumming through his gently swaying body, trusting Kahill to follow his tempo and bring the rest of the band with him.

The character of his tone changed completely in the faster sections; he couldn’t resist ad-libbing, improvising around the notes. In tacit passages he let his head gently beat out the rhythm of the band, massaging his pouting lips with his fingers, teeth and tongue.

He added a little improvised flourish all of his own at the end, hips thrust forward and horn pointing towards the ceiling as he belted out screaming high notes.

Merlin smiled broadly as he took his bow, adrenaline pumping, face flushing with pleasure, and he lifted his lips in a flirtatious smirk, moistening them with his tongue as he glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. He’d put on a bit of a show, and much of it had been for Arthur’s benefit. He caught Arthur’s intent, wide-eyed gaze, and shivered in its heat.

~~~

As the band filed off stage towards the dressing room at the end of the concert, giddy with applause and adrenaline, Arthur fell into step beside Merlin. The flugel player’s lips were flushed deep red from the exertion of the performance, long fingers raking through shaggy black hair as he grinned at Arthur.

“I’m not sure it’s legal to treat an innocent flugelhorn like that, Merlin,” began Arthur in a low voice. “I think you might be flouting flugel indecency laws doing those things with your lips – in fact, I’m not sure that your lips should be allowed out alone, they’re far too dangerous,” and Merlin laughed, flushing brick red to the roots of his hair and the tips of his ears.

Arthur was gratified at that reaction, which was only fair punishment for the exquisite torture Merlin had put him through with that borderline X-rated solo performance. Arthur could compose symphonies about those lips and fingers, and those teasing hip movements, but they would be far too erotic ever to be performed in public. Merlin treated him to another one of his beaming grins- the ones which just bypassed all Arthur’s higher brain functions, grabbed his libido, and gave it a cheeky tug.

“Well Arthur,” he responded, “I couldn’t help wondering, when you were playing the triple-tongued section of ‘Pandora’, whether you do lots of tongue exercises, or is your tongue just naturally talented? Because I for one wouldn’t mind having a tongue master-class with you…”

Before Arthur could do anything stupid—like grab Merlin by the bow tie, smash into him lip-to-lip, doing untold damage to his own embouchure in the process, and give a practical demonstration of his best triple-tonguing techniques—Mordred sidled up to them and asked if he could come to the after party.

“No Mordred, don’t be silly you’re too young,” said Arthur firmly. Mordred’s shoulder’s slumped in disappointment and he pouted before setting his lips into a spiteful line and wandering off after the three trombone players. The moment was broken, thought Arthur regretfully, and he made his way to the pub with Merlin in companionable silence.

~~~

When they’d all got drinks in, Mithian lifted a pint glass and proposed a toast to all the soloists, which the ensemble drank to with alacrity. Merlin looked around. Gwen was chatting to Lance at the bar. He was surprised but pleased to see that Freya had come to the after party. She was sitting in a booth flanked by Sophia and Elena. Merlin nodded, approvingly. She’d be ok with those two he thought. Freya caught his eye and smiled shyly, nodding at Merlin’s silent question as he smiled back.

He turned his gaze to Arthur Pendragon, who had his back turned to Merlin as he regaled Leon and Percival with a joke. Arthur is an uptight, emotionally-repressed upper-class prick, thought Merlin, but he has a gorgeous laugh. When Arthur laughed, he abandoned all decorum. His doubled over at the waist, buttocks clenching, taut thighs flexing, as he was wracked by guffaws. Merlin figured one of those buttocks would fit just perfectly into his hands, and imagined how it would feel, firm muscle under his fingers. Arthur was bent nearly double… maybe if Merlin just moved his head a little, he could see…

“Enjoying the view,” whispered a knowing voice, and a strong, lean hand clamped onto his shoulder. Merlin jumped half a metre off the ground, cursing as he splashed vodka and cranberry onto his elegant velvet suit.

“Gwaine, you absolute tit!” yelled Merlin, embarrassed to have been caught ogling Arthur Pendragon’s arse in public. “That’s my best fucking suit!”

“Personally, I take my suit off when I'm fucking,” chuckled Gwaine. Arthur turned and smirked at Merlin who felt his colour deepen even further as he tried to dab the cranberry juice off his clothes with a damp beer towel.


	5. The Winner Takes it All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes meet the adversary, the evil Mercia Mills Brass Band, at a Gala football match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing here Merlin?” drawled Arthur. “As far as I know, cheekbone sharpness and ear size do not equate to footballing prowess.”
> 
> Merlin’s face adopted a wounded puppy expression, the bastard, causing all the girls to frown at Arthur.
> 
> “Don’t be such an arse Arthur. I’m the first aider, and team physio actually,” and the git actually leered at Arthur, taking in his muscled frame. “I’m looking forward to copping a feel of those steely glutes while I massage away your cramps.”
> 
> Arthur wanted to shoot his treacherous body for betraying him at this point with a deep blush, which made Merlin’s pink lips stretch across his face in a delighted smile as he leaned in to whisper the punch line.
> 
> “Maybe if it’s my lucky day you’ll get a groin strain, Arthur. Don’t worry I have very skilled fingers.”

Arthur awoke, groaning, head heavy from another long Friday night at the Rising Sun, to the insistent sound of an alarm bleeping through his empty apartment, and to a grey and drizzly panorama across the moorland of central Yorkshire. It was the day of the long-awaited grudge match with Mercia and he couldn’t wait to get stuck in. Arthur loved playing football in the same way that ducks love to paddle round ponds or dogs like to sniff each others bums. It was as natural to him as eating and breathing – with added ego massage. Really, the only activity that he preferred to playing football was having sex. Preferably with a footballer. Still in his kit. So yeah, he was looking forward to the football match today.

Most of all he was looking forward to beating Morgana.

He dressed quickly in shorts and Arsenal shirt, and jogged down to the park, where he encountered Percival and Elyan, putting on their football boots.

Gwaine, Elena and Mithian turned up shortly afterwards, all looking a bit bleary eyed. Gwaine had an arm round each of the two girls and Arthur’s brain shied round the implications. Leon arrived panting, full of apologies for his late arrival, citing problems with buses. Kahill, Mordred and Lance were not far behind.

The rival Mercia team sported a similar mix of men and women; one of the Mercia women, a blonde with black kohl outlining her eyes, was scowling viciously at Gwaine. Given what he’d seen of Gwaine’s inclusive sexual appetite at the pub after rehearsal the other night, he suspected that there may have been some previous romantic entanglement to blame.

Arthur’s eyes rolled when Merlin appeared by the side of the pitch, clutching a large holdall. Surely that noodle-armed, smart-mouthed Irish twit couldn’t play football?

“What are you doing here, Merlin?” drawled Arthur. “As far as I know, cheekbone sharpness and ear size do not equate to footballing prowess.”

Merlin’s face adopted a wounded puppy expression, the bastard, causing all the girls to frown at Arthur.

“Don’t be such an arse Arthur. I’m the first aider, and team physio actually,” and the git actually leered at Arthur, taking in his muscled frame. “I’m looking forward to copping a feel of those steely glutes while I massage away your cramps.”

Arthur wanted to shoot his treacherous body for betraying him at this point with a deep blush, which made Merlin’s pink lips stretch across his face in a delighted smile as he leaned in to whisper the punch line.

“Maybe if it’s my lucky day you’ll get a groin strain, Arthur. Don’t worry I have very skilled fingers.”

Arthur tried to sharpen his gaze into daggers to hurl in Merlin’s face, but confronted by a full-beamed grin he instead found himself smiling and then barking a surprised laugh.

“In your dreams,” he retorted, but without heat as he ran off to warm up and stretch, trying not to imagine Merlin’s fingers massaging his groin as a megawatt smile followed him round the pitch.

And then another female came into view and Arthur groaned. She was a long-limbed, green-eyed, dark-haired beauty with immaculate nails and gold football boots. She broke off her shouting match with Gwen, who was in the crowd wearing an “ABBA” scarf, and strode across to Arthur, smirking.

“Hello little brother,” she said.

“Morgana,” Arthur replied. “It’s a … I won’t say pleasure … what’s the word I want now? Ah yes. Displeasure. ”

Her pupils narrowed to pinpricks and she pouted spitefully, about to speak, when a bull-faced Mercia bloke jogged up to Leon for the toss.

“Who’s the new girl then?” he said, broad Lancashire accent, nodding at Arthur. “Tinkerbell?”

“Fuck off Val, you knob,” responded Leon. As repartee went it lacked subtlety, but got to the point, thought Arthur.

"Leon! Juniors present!" hushed Lance, nodding at Mordred. Arthur gasped in sudden recognition. That was Gwen's line! Were Lance and Gwen...? But it was time for the match to start. Mercia won the toss and the players adopted positions for the kick-off. The stocky-looking Val kept his eyes on Arthur as they prepared to start the game.

“Keep your eye out for Val,” whispered Leon in an aside. “He plays dirty.” Arthur nodded his thanks for the warning as Gaius, who was acting as referee, blew his whistle to start the match, and then there was no more time to gauge the opposite team’s players, they were immediately in the thick of the game.

Mercia had the best of the first half. The Albion team were getting to know each other’s strengths after all; Arthur made himself useful in midfield, passing out to Mithian on the wing whenever possible. She had an excellent turn of speed and the Mercia girl marking her couldn’t get anywhere near. Lance, Gwaine and Elyan made a solid defence. In theory, the plan was to get the ball forward to Elena who had a wicked left boot on her.

Mordred hung around in midfield and seemed to be mainly concerned with leering at the girls on the opposite team, and trying to get as close to them all as possible. Every time Morgana got the ball Mordred immediately tackled her. Arthur was sure that the teenager was trying to get a peek down his sister’s football shirt.

Albion’s best chance came towards the end of the first half. Arthur passed to Lance, who made a lightning dart forward, but was intercepted by Morgana, who passed the ball out to a Mercia midfielder. Leon tackled skillfully, crossing the ball to Mithian, who made a great run along the right wing, and passed in to Arthur. But the Lancastrian Mercia player, Val, slid at high speed towards his legs, both boots first, in a dirty tackle bringing Arthur down like a skittle.

Gaius blew his whistle for the foul and waved a yellow card at Val.

“Another one like that and you’ll be sent off the pitch,” he warned, eyebrow beetling up towards his hairline. Val scowled belligerently.

At half time the score was still 0-0, despite Mercia managing a number of strikes on target. It’s difficult to get a ball past a man-mountain like Percival, the Albion goalkeeper. Albion were playing a passing game, but hadn’t yet got the ball far enough forward to strike. Leon gave the team a pep talk over quartered oranges.

“Arthur, you’re doing a great job in midfield. I’d like you to go forward a bit more. Mithian, you’re looking tired. Lance will take over on the right wing. I’d like you to go back a bit. Mordred, great tackling, but please pay more attention to the ball than to the player. All of you look out for Val, he has murder in his eyes.”

“Kahill and I will have the defensive positions covered. OK team, let’s try to score. Albion!”

About 10 minutes in to the second half Arthur saw his chance. Morgana was loitering close to the Mercia goalkeeper, Alvarr; when Lance passed a cheeky lob to Arthur, he dodged past Val and tapped the ball delicately forward to Elena. Elena, close to the goal but in an onside position, hammered the ball to the back of the net. The Albion supporters went wild; Elena jumped on Arthur, swiftly followed by Lance. They were surrounded by the rest of the team, dealing out congratulatory thumps.

Arthur could see Merlin sitting next to Gwen in the crowd, full lips a cherry-red counterpoint to the grey drizzly day, and eyes disappearing into a mass of crinkly smile lines. And at that moment, he felt on top of the world.

The Mercia team were rattled by the Albion goal. Val’s jaw set in a spiteful grimace.

Arthur took a back pass from Leon, and, spotting a gap in the opposing side’s defence, he gestured to Gwaine, who started to sprint forwards. Gwaine looked round at Arthur, waiting for the pass, and his eyes widened in alarm.

“Arthur, look out” he shouted. In that split second Arthur spotted out of the corner of his eye Val bearing down on him at top speed, a crazed glint in his eye. The heavy Lancastrian barrelled into Arthur at crushing speed, and with a heavy crunch of bone and muscle Arthur fell to the floor, Val a heavy weight squashing into him. A studded football boot crashed into Arthur’s face with great force and an elbow viciously jabbed into Arthur’s ribs as Val fell on top of him. Painful sparks erupted in his head.

There was no way that could be written off as an accidental foul, Arthur thought triumphantly, and then “Ow!” before blacking out.

In retrospect Arthur’s first inkling of his doom should have been when, as he came to, a shaft of sunlight seemed to come out from behind a cloud, alighting on the dark shaggy locks of the man crouched in front of him, and a choir in his head started singing “Pié Jésu”.

He drifted in and out of focus, and managed to lock eyes on a pretty pair of cherry-red lips. The lips were moving and a lilting Irish voice was telling everyone to move away, to give Arthur some space, to let him take care of Arthur.

Merlin was taking care of him. Arthur’ heart unaccountably pounded in his chest, and a smile ghosted his mouth, hastily quashed. His hand moved up, fingers unconsciously seeking those full lips, to bring them closer.

This movement was enough to jolt his head minutely; reality crashed down and he gasped with the sudden pain. Someone was stroking his face, wiping blood from his eyes with gentle fingers, holding an ice pack to the back of his head. It felt nice. He closed his eyes, feeling like purring.

“Have you got a cat?” he muttered weakly. “Good at stroking.” And hysterical laughter bubbled up from his belly.

“Shhh,” the steady Irish voice hushed him. “Come on now, sit up. Let’s be having you, lazy daisy”.

“Head. Hurts. Ow. Ribs.” Arthur grimaced and tried to sit up, felt Percival’s reassuring strong arms grip him from behind while Merlin’s face peered at him concernedly from the front.

“It’s OK Arthur, you’re going to be fine,” said Merlin in his soothing Irish brogue. “But this will sting a bit I’m afraid.” Long, gentle fingers dabbed antiseptic wipes at the cuts on his face. Merlin’s exhaled breath ghosted in the cold air and he carried on talking gently to Arthur, regarding him with deep blue eyes framed by long, black lashes.

“Elyan and Gwaine are dealing with that bastard Val. Gaius has suspended the match while you get treated.”

Merlin gently lifted his eyelids and shone a torch into his eyes.

“You should go and get checked out Arthur,” he concluded. “You have a mild concussion, but nothing serious. Someone should stay with you for the next 24 hours, and paracetamol will help with the pain. But you’re a bit cut up and bruised, and you’re not going to be playing any more of this match, so let’s get you checked out and off the pitch ok? Percival, Lance - can you give me a hand yeah?”

Warm hands gripped him and he was hauled unceremoniously off towards the edge where Lance and Percival gently lowered him into a sitting position on a bench, leaning back into Merlin, whose arms held him carefully so as not to jog his bruised ribs.

“Merlin?” Arthur whispered, and tried to turn his head, then bit back a cry as sudden pain pounded into his cranium.

“I’m here Arthur. Stay with me mate.” And those heavenly fingers gently stroked his hair again. He closed his eyes, sinking into Merlin’s warm embrace. “Gwen and I’ll take you to casualty to get you checked out, and then we’ll take you home. She’s just gone to get her car. At least that twat Val didn’t managed to get the boot into your embouchure, eh Arthur,” joked Merlin. “Stay awake, mate, best not to nod off yet.”

Merlin stopped stroking his head for a second. Arthur squeaked a protest and then he resumed, chuckling. Arthur closed his eyes and sank his head onto Merlin’s chest, where he could hear the soothing thud, thud of Merlin’s heart. So tired.

“Don’t go to sleep now Arthur,” Merlin’s voice rumbled in his chest.

“Shhh!” hushed Arthur to the rumbling. “Too loud.”

Merlin’s breath hitched as he spoke again, more quietly.

“Well this isn’t how I imagined our first cuddle to be you know Arthur, I sort of hoped you’d be more actively involved, you know.”

Arthur laughed faintly.

“Are you coming on to me Merlin? While I lie mortally wounded? That’s a bit low, don’t you think?”

He could hear the echoing laughter bubble up in Merlin’s chest, and burrowed the unwounded part of his face a little deeper into Merlin’s warm fleece hoody.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not in the Hippocratic oath, Merlin actually,” Arthur babbled on. Merlin’s expression saddened slightly while a corner of Arthur’s mind screamed at him to shut up shut up shut up, STOP COCK-BLOCKING YOURSELF ARTHUR YOU IDIOT.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gwen, brandishing a pair of car keys.

“OK girls,” she said, with a fond smile on her face. “Let’s get you both over to casualty.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest that he was definitely not a girl, but closed it again. It hurt too much to argue.

~~~

By the time Merlin and Gwen had escorted Arthur home from the hospital, with a packet of pain killers, and dire warnings not to leave him alone or let him sleep for more than two consecutive hours, his normal biting temper had returned. Merlin almost preferred the docile, dazed version of Arthur whom he had dragged from the football pitch. But he realised that the returning epithets and abuse were a sign of the patient’s recovery.

They stood shivering on the doorstep to the block of flats Arthur lived in, while Merlin reached into Arthur’s jeans pocket for a key.

“I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door to my own flat, you imbecile,” spat Arthur charmingly. Merlin and Gwen exchanged a long-suffering glance.

“Fine,” said Merlin, stepping away from Arthur who promptly nearly collapsed in a heap so that he had to step back hurriedly to prop him up again. “Off you go then.”

Arthur rummaged gingerly in his pocket but his hands were trembling with the cold and delayed shock, and he fumbled.

“All right,” he snapped finally. “OK, but don’t take advantage. I’ll know if you try anything”

“As if I would,” said Merlin soothingly. He sighed a little, inwardly, at the thought of his self restraint, but he meant it.

Merlin having retrieved the key, they pushed the door open and entered Arthur’s spartanly furnished ground-floor flat, Merlin’s arm still round Arthur. Gwen trotted off to find the kitchen and turn the kettle on for a cup of tea. Merlin deposited Arthur on a sleek leather couch, and draped him with a blanket before switching on the TV. Gwen reappeared clutching 3 steaming mugs and they sat together companionably watching an old Harry Potter movie on TV with one eye, while Arthur gradually stopped shivering as he sipped his tea.

Merlin caught Gwen looking surreptitiously at her watch.

“Don’t worry Gwen,” he said. “I’ll stay here with her ladyship.”

She flashed him a guilty smile.

“Thanks Merlin. I would normally be happy to stay, it’s just…” she bit her bottom lip and Merlin smiled at her knowingly when she blurted out, “I’ve got a date.”

“Ooooh,” said Merlin knowingly. “Anyone we know?”

Gwen blushed and punched him hard on the arm. “It’s Lance, you idiot,” she said, “as if you didn’t know, sitting next to him as you do!"

Merlin chuckled. “I think Lance gave the game away when he told Leon off for swearing in front of Mordred! Anyway, it's about bloody time. Look, I’ll stay here with Arthur. I’ve got nothing on tonight and I’m not due back at university til Monday. I’ll get us in a take-away or something and make sure he doesn’t get devoured by monsters or anythin’, ok?”

“Merlin you’re an angel.” And she went to get ready for her date, leaving him and Arthur alone.

Merlin sat back down on the sofa. “You OK?” he said.

Arthur nodded, and then winced, because nodding was really not a good idea. “Yeah,” he huffed eventually but his face was tense and Merlin could tell he was in pain. “Bit cold still.”

Without saying any more Merlin lifted Arthur’s feet from the ground. “Jayzus Arthur, your feet are like ice blocks.” He shuffled his bum so that Arthur’s feet lay under Merlin’s warm thighs and they watched the rest of the Harry Potter movie together like that while Arthur’s toes gradually warmed up. At some point Arthur must have nodded off. Merlin gently withdrew from the sofa and sat in a small chair, watching Arthur sleep. After a couple of hours he padded over and sat next to Arthur’s peaceful form and sighed.

“Sorry mate,” he said. “Don’t like doing this but I have to wake you up every couple of hours.” He lifted Arthur’s hand and rubbed it gently.

“Arthur! Wake up mate,” he said quietly and, not really knowing why, obeyed a sudden impulse to place a soft kiss on Arthur’s forehead. Arthur’s eyes opened and he looked momentarily dazed before smiling sweetly and unselfconsciously at Merlin, who returned the smile.

“How you feelin’?” said Merlin.

“Head hurts,” Arthur swallowed. “Could do with a drink.”

“No problem,” said Merlin and padded off to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water. He placed it by Arthur’s side and gently brushed blond hair out of Arthur’s face before returning to his own chair. He set the alarm for two hours hence, and dozed before repeating the exercise.

Although the night was long, and he got very little sleep, Merlin did not regret a single minute of it. And in the morning, he and Arthur sat up and traded insults over cornflakes and poached eggs as if nothing had changed between them.

If they both knew that there was a new warmth to their bantering exchanges, and if the smiles had grown wider and the frowns had grown less frequent, neither of them mentioned it.


	6. The Day Before You Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a while Arthur’s sofa didn’t look right any more without Merlin’s ungainly limbs sprawled across it; Arthur’s flat had developed a permanent, Merliny scent of mingled biscuits and sweets.

The day after the match, Merlin was clearing away the breakfast things when Uther came round to visit. Uther had choice words for Arthur, about Arthur jeopardising his career as a trumpeter, and accountant, by playing football. In fact, the two men had a flaming row about it. Flaming rows with Uther were not particularly unusual, but always made Arthur feel really small and insignificant, and right now he was in pain, and felt a little bit faint and sick as well, and Uther was not helping. Eventually, after endless lectures about duty, and failure to prioritise, which Arthur always translated in his head to mean that he was a failure in his father’s eyes and always would be, Merlin came in from the kitchen and intervened.

“Excuse me Mr Pendragon, but I think you should leave now,” he said quietly to Uther. “In case it escaped your notice, Arthur is injured, and this argument isn’t making him feel any better.”

“How dare you! I am Arthur’s father!” Uther blustered.

“And I am his friend. With all due respect, what he needs at the moment is rest, and quiet. So I think you should leave now. Please.” He gently took Uther by the elbow and steered him towards the door. Uther gaped at Merlin, shocked, and left without another word. Arthur exhaled, heart still pumping.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever stood up to my father before,” he said eventually. Merlin smiled.

“I have hidden talents,” he said. Calming angry Pendragons appears to be one of them, thought Arthur gratefully.

After popping out to get some study materials and what he referred to as “a care package,” Merlin stayed with him the rest of the day, calm and quiet, studying while Arthur dozed and his face swelled up. The care package consisted primarily of the ingredients for a vegetarian curry, which Merlin made from scratch and then cleared away in Arthur’s normally-unused kitchen. It turned out Merlin was a creditable cook, who sang “Abba” songs, surprisingly tunefully, while he chopped vegetables and mixed spices. Arthur wondered what else he didn’t know about Merlin, and decided to make it his mission to find it all out. It was hard to talk at the moment though, the swelling from his face was so painful.

Also included in the care package was a packet of Jammy Dodgers, which comprised dessert. Merlin dunked these into his black tea with evident enjoyment, and before Arthur could blink, his friend had devoured a whole packet.

“You, Merlin, are a Dodger-hogger,” he said, eyeing up the empty packet. Merlin smiled broadly and extracted another from the grocery bag. “Da-DAH!” he crowed, “I bought back-up. One packet of Dodgers is never enough.”

“I take it all back,” said Arthur, grabbing the packet before it could go the same way as the first, and cramming several Dodgers into his mouth at once until his face was covered in crumbs, his mouth was dry and he could not chew. Merlin snorted, laughing at him. Arthur tried not to laugh, because it hurt, but failed and spat crumbs out all over his lap, eyes watering.

“Ow,” he gasped. “Must stop laughing, it hurts too much.”

Merlin smiled at him, a fond expression in his eyes, and turned to Arthur’s DVD collection.

“Shall we watch something?” he asked, flicking through and lighting on a set of 1970s episodes of “Doctor Who” with a happy cry.

“Tom Baker!” Merlin exclaimed. “The best Doctor of them all.”

Arthur choked.

“How can you say that?” he said. “When obviously Matt Smith is and always will be the awesomest Doctor.”

“Arthur! The scarf! K9! Sets made of polystyrene! And, most importantly, does Matt do this?” said Merlin, producing a brown paper bag full of confectionary from a pocket with a flourish, and offering it to Arthur. “Jelly Baby?”

Merlin flashed Arthur his most beguiling grin. Arthur attacked a Jelly Baby, biting off its head, and they settled happily at opposite ends of Arthur’s sofa, Merlin’s cold feet tucked under Arthur’s thighs for warmth, to watch 3 hours of Tom Baker proffering sweets while miraculously avoiding tripping over his scarf.

“You’re a decapitator,” Merlin said, watching Arthur bite the heads off Jelly Babies. “I had you down as a muncher.”

“What in the name of all the heavens is a muncher?” said Arthur.

“Someone who shovels a handful of Jelly Babies in all at once is a muncher. You are a more delicate, refined breed of Jelly-Baby-eater entirely.”

“And which one are you, Merlin?”

“I refuse to be categorised,” said Merlin, biting the head off several Jelly Babies at once and then cramming a whole handful into his mouth. “I won’t be labelled.”

Arthur snorted and stuffed a handful of Jelly Babies into his mouth. “You,” he mumbled, mouth glued together, jaws chomping, “are a hypocrite.”

“Can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

~~~

Merlin dropped round to see Arthur every evening after that, to check on Arthur’s healing injuries. Although Arthur still had a gash on his cheek, he had survived the head injury with few ill effects. He found himself looking forward to Merlin’s visits; he always brought something with him to share, and they enjoyed an undemanding companionship. After a while Arthur’s sofa didn’t look right any more without Merlin’s ungainly limbs sprawled across it; Arthur’s flat had developed a permanent, Merliny scent of mingled biscuits and sweets.

On Monday (barbecued aubergines and chocolate Hob-Nobs), they watched a boxed set of Red Dwarf. Arthur laughed so hard at the "Backwards" episode that he developed a stitch. Merlin fell asleep with his head in Arthur’s lap and drooled chocolatey goo all over Arthur’s best chinos.

“It’s worse than having a dog,” Arthur complained, mopping at his trousers with a damp cloth. “At least dogs don’t criticise me all the time.”

“They poo and vomit everywhere,” said Merlin. “You should be grateful.”

On Tuesday (Jaffa Cakes and red wine), they played cribbage. Merlin wore a croupier’s hat and performed magic tricks with the cards. Arthur scoffed and swore that Merlin was cheating.

By Wednesday (home-made caramel shortbread), the swelling on Arthur’s face had subsided enough for him to go into work, although he had a headache by the time he got home, which Merlin massaged away with delicate fingers.

“Do you have a home to go to Merlin?” Arthur teased.

“Yeah, but your telly is bigger than mine and Will always watches crap reality TV shows,” Merlin replied, not unreasonably, as they settled down to watch favourite episodes of "Father Ted".

On Thursday (Taylors of Harrogate Yorkshire Tea) Arthur felt well enough to go to band practice. Merlin called for him en route, and they walked there, arriving together three minutes late, to be greeted by cheers from the assembled company. Gwen patted Arthur's chair for him with a smile, and Gwaine grinned manically at him across the band room. Arthur extracted Cinderella from her case and blew a few experimental notes. Percival and Elyan, sitting behind him, leaned forward and breathed greetings. He felt a warm sense of belonging as Kahill tapped the conductor’s stand to start the rehearsal.

“Welcome back, Arthur, love,” he boomed. “Good to see you with us in one piece. Glad Val didn’t manage to damage your embouchure last week. He’s a fooking awful footballer, and a fooking awful trombone player to boot.”

“Juniors present!” ssshed Gwen and Lance in unison. Arthur snorted, exchanging a look with Merlin that meant “Looks like their date went well”. Merlin grinned and nodded.

By the weekend, he was feeling well enough to go to the gym in the morning, where he encountered Leon and Percival, and of course they all got a bit competitive. No-one could possibly lift as much weight as Percival, but that didn’t stop them from trying. To cap it all they all went to the park to kick a football around, and Gwaine, Lance and Elyan turned up, which meant they could play 3-a-side, thus achieving several simultaneous aims, one of which was just to play football, and another of which was to put two fingers up at Arthur’s disapproving, oblivious father.

In fact, he admitted to himself as he sat, happy but aching on the sofa afterwards, he may have overdone things slightly. Which was why, when Merlin came round to check on him in the evening, all the muscles in his back, shoulders and hips had seized up completely and he found himself answering the door in a pair of old jogging trousers, unable to move without whimpering.

Merlin’s gleeful glance took in this broken vision of devastated man-pain.

“You, my friend, are a trainee physiotherapist’s wet dream,” Merlin said, licking his lips. “Let me return to my flat for some essential supplies, and I will massage you to within an inch of your life.”

Arthur groaned appreciatively at the thought of Merlin’s long fingers dealing with the knots and aches in his muscles. Merlin’s grin broadened.

“Hold that thought,” he said. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”


	7. Slipping Through my Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Merlin had an instinct for finding and teasing out the problematic muscles, until Arthur lay limp and pliable, drooling contentedly onto the towel that Merlin had thoughtfully placed onto his pillow. So it wasn’t Merlin’s fault that his clever hands were drawn inexorably lower down Arthur’s spine, towards those twitching glutei maximi whose tension was still so evident, crying out for Merlin to sooth them."

Upon his return to Arthur’s flat, Merlin had, clutched in his bag, all the wherewithal to sooth painful muscles. He proceeded, under Arthur’s mocking gaze, to set coconut oil, aromatherapy oils, a DVD of ambient music, and scented candles out in Arthur’s bedroom, and told Arthur to shower, then lie face down on the bed with a towel covering his arse and with his head cradled in his arms.

“I thought you were training to be a physiotherapist, Merlin, not a girl! Oh wait, you forgot the rose petals, and the chocolate love hearts!”

“You’ll thank me for it later, Arthur, you ungrateful sod.”

Arthur did as he was instructed, so that when Merlin re-entered the bedroom he was treated to the sight of Arthur’s nearly naked torso, dusted with fine golden hairs, wide shoulders glowing in the candlelight, head turned away, damp blond hair resting on freckled arms in perfect repose.

His mouth dropped open. I have died and gone to heaven, he thought, only slightly melodramatically, as he stood in the doorway, longing eyes drinking in this vision. Luckily Arthur then ruined the moment by turning his head and snapping “well get on with it then” in his cultured, spoilt-brat voice. Merlin scowled gratefully and moved towards Arthur’s bed, rubbing his hands together to heat them with friction, flicking the switch on the “whale sounds” DVD, and dousing his hands liberally with coconut oil.

“Now hold still, Arthur, and try to relax, you grumpy twat.”

Merlin stood by the side of Arthur’s bed and set to work, firstly stimulating the blood flow and coating Arthur in oil with brisk stroking movements, and following up with increasingly penetrating fingers and the heel of his hand; kneading, pummelling and pounding stubborn knots, showing no mercy, and pulling deep groans from Arthur’s throat.

Merlin had an instinct for finding and teasing out the problematic muscles, until Arthur lay limp and pliable, drooling contentedly onto the towel that Merlin had thoughtfully placed onto his pillow. So it wasn’t Merlin’s fault that his clever hands were drawn inexorably lower down Arthur’s spine, towards those twitching glutei maximi whose tension was still so evident, crying out for Merlin to sooth them. Without pausing to think he moved the towel down over Arthur’s thighs, exposing those glorious naked orbs, and set out with great determination to erase all tension from them. But try as he might, his firmest caresses failed to smooth the knots in Arthur’s buttocks, which were now flexing and straining, pushing Arthur’s hips into the bed, until Merlin realised with a mixture of horror, shame and lust that Arthur was panting and rutting into the bed. This had not been the intention at all! He was meant to be taking care of Arthur, and all he’d done was make things worse. And now Arthur’s hips were pushing his arse cheeks up into Merlin's hands, Arthur was groaning and whispering his name, and Merlin could feel those tight, hard muscles sliding rhythmically under his slippery fingers.

Merlin stopped abruptly, his own erection straining at his jeans, and swiftly replaced the towel across Arthur’s waist before backing away.

“Right, erm, well that’s it then,” he said brightly. “I’ll just – er – wash my hands.” And he left the room.

“Merlin!” he heard Arthur shout, over the thumping sounds of an angry Pendragon urgently seeking clothes. “You really are the WORST physiotherapist I have ever…. Wait! Come back here!”

“Sorry!” Merlin yelled through the door, pulling his trainers on as quickly as he could, and running out of the front door. “Just remembered, I’ve got to – er – bye!”

Ignoring the insistent buzzing from his mobile phone, he fled down the street towards his shared flat and into the safety of his own room, where he turned his music up high and indulged in a brief and unsatisfying wank, and then sank into despairing self-loathing.

His phone beeped again. He gave in and looked at the latest text message from Arthur:

Jelly baby? 

He smiled, feeling cheered somehow, and replied:

2mrw? CU @ 5

Then he lay on his bed with an anatomy text book, pretending to study but mostly just looking at the pictures.


	8. The Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was like the Spanish inquisition, he thought; in Gwen's case, her chief weapons were a warm intense gaze, dimples, and an annoying level of insight into relationships. He gave up and put his hands up in mock surrender."

Half an hour after the massage debacle, the doorbell rang. Arthur looked in the viewfinder and smiled. Gwen stood on the threshold, a bottle of wine in her hand. He opened the door.

“Hello Arthur,” Gwen beamed. “Lance said you were feeling well enough to play football today, but I thought I’d check you hadn’t been over-doing things.”

Arthur chuckled ruefully. His wellbeing seemed to have become something of a preoccupation for the Albion band members, but he didn’t mind. He mistakenly thought that having a visitor would take his mind off the strange situation with Merlin, but didn’t bank on Gwen’s dark talent for gentle questioning.

“Come in,” he said, unwarily. “It’s lovely to see you. Will you stay and share a glass of your wine with me?”

“I’d love to!” she replied warmly. “Got to head out in half an hour or so, but let’s have a drink first.”

Arthur pottered into the kitchen, returning with an opened bottle and two glasses, while Gwen wondered round Arthur’s living room, peering inquisitively at the bookshelves. The “Doctor Who” DVD box set lay open on the coffee table, together with the remnants of a packet of Jammy Dodgers. Arthur swept these aside and poured two glasses. Merlin’s discarded hoodie lay on the sofa, and he hastily picked it up and draped it across the back, to make space for Gwen to sit down. She looked at it.

“So, Arthur,” Gwen started, sipping her wine, eyes still on the hoodie, “Have you been feeling OK—isn’t that Merlin’s?” she asked, breaking off to pick up the hoodie, which had a purple flugelhorn emblazoned upon it.

“Er – yeah, I think so, he left it when he came round earlier,” said Arthur, wincing a bit in pain and embarrassment when he sat down. That confounded, puzzling, blue-eyed, sharp-cheekboned, slim-hipped, beguiling buffoon hadn’t finished massaging his glutes properly, and they were still killing him. Gwen’s eyes bore into him.

“Have you been looking after yourself? Lance was a bit worried you might have overdone it a bit today.”

“I’m OK, thanks, don’t worry about me,” said Arthur. Gwen put her head on one side and didn’t reply. Into her pointed silence he added, “Well, I was a bit sore to start with, but Merlin dropped by and gave me a sports massage, and now I feel much better.” Gwen’s eyebrows rose a little at that. “He’s a physiotherapy student,” Arthur felt compelled to carry on. “It was good practice for him.” Gwen smirked. Arthur swallowed and willed himself to stop talking.

“And this is when he left the hoodie,” said Gwen.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“It’s a bit cold isn’t it? To be leaving without a jumper.”

“He left in a bit of a hurry.”

“Hmm.” Gwen was silent for a moment or two, and then asked “So what is going on with you two?”

Arthur flinched and didn’t say anything.

“Is everything OK?” she continued.

Arthur sighed. It was like the Spanish inquisition, he thought; in Gwen's case, her chief weapons were a warm intense gaze, dimples, and an annoying level of insight into relationships. He gave up and put his hands up in mock surrender.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Merlin left in a bit of a hurry, and OK, I may have overreacted a little to the sports massage, but I don’t see how that could possibly be my fault. I am not the one with the infuriatingly talented fingers and an absurd lack of boundaries. But he’s as skittish as a young colt. Just when I think I’m getting somewhere he runs away. “

He topped up her wine instead of meeting her gaze.

“Oh, Arthur.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m an idiot. He’s an idiot. There’s no hope for me.” Arthur’s voice caught. He couldn’t believe it. He had an actual lump in his throat.

“I don’t know about that, Arthur. I’ve seen how he looks at you,” said Gwen.

“What do you mean? How does he look at me, exactly?” said Arthur, frowning.

“You silly man, don’t you see it? It’s like he can’t believe his luck. Like all his Christmases have come at once in one, blond, Pendragon-shaped package that he wants to open and jump inside,” said Gwen.

“So why does he keep blowing hot and cold? Coming on to me then running away?” said Arthur, frustrated, grinding his teeth. “He’s driving me to distraction.”

“I’m not sure, but I do think you need to be careful, Arthur. I am pretty sure that something bad has happened to him in the past. I think he could break easily,” Gwen said. Arthur sighed and was silent for a minute or two, twirling his wine glass and gazing moodily into its depths.

“I think that, based on current evidence, there’s every possibility that he will be the one breaking me,” Arthur confessed finally. “He really is the most aptly named person,” he continued, taking a sip of wine. “I think that I just have to keep letting him fly, like the bird of prey he is named for, and trust that I can find a lure to bring him back to me.”


	9. Money, Money, Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The suggestions for fundraising activities became more and more outrageous. Gwaine suggested a naked mud-wrestling competition, which everyone agreed would be a bit too over the top; Sophia suggested a Bridge competition, which everyone thought would be a bit stuffy. “I know, what about the Full Monty,” joked Arthur without thinking.

After band practice on Friday, Arthur looked across at Merlin. Creating an imaginary cup with his hand, and bringing said cup to his lips, he waggled it back and forth—the  internationally agreed sign language for “fancy a pint?”—and Merlin raised his eyebrows and thumb, nodding in the affirmative.

Together they toddled over to the Rising Sun with much of the rest of the band. Hearing footsteps behind, Arthur turned and saw  Mordred following him, like a puppy, and stopped, Merlin by his side.  
  
"Can I come to the pub with you," asked Mordred, large blue eyes almost black in the street lights.  
  
"Won't your mum or dad be here to pick you up soon?"  
  
Mordred shrugged. "I can phone them when I'm ready to go."  
  
"How old are you, Mordred?" asked Arthur. Best to check.  
  
"14"  
  
Arthur shrugged. He'd been going to the pub at that age. Drinking pints, too, as he recalled.  
  
"All right then," he said. Mordred grinned in delight. Arthur didn't think he'd ever seen the boy smile before.  
  
"Thanks!" said Mordred. "No-one ever lets me do anything!"  
  
Arthur bought a pint for himself, an orange juice for Mordred and a vile-looking pink drink for Merlin. How his friend could drink that disgusting stuff in preference to the life-giving nectar of the gods brewed by the Messrs Timothy Taylor & company, Arthur really didn’t know. As Mordred made a bee-line for certain female trombone specialists, Kahill sidled over to Arthur and Merlin, munching his way incongruously through a packet of pork scratchings. Arthur had assumed that Kahill was Muslim, but Kahill was nothing if not a genius at confounding Arthur's expectations.

“All right, loves,” he began in a friendly tone. “I wanted to have a word with you about Mordred.” And he nodded at the disappearing back and mop of unruly curls.

“Mordred?" said Merlin, a puzzled crease appearing between his eyebrows. "What is the problem?”

“I am concerned about him. I have seen the way he looks at you and Arthur in rehearsal. He looks up to you both. Just look out for him, OK? He’s young and impressionable, but thinks he isn’t.”

“I’m not sure I follow you, Kahill,” said Arthur. "What are you implying?"

The older man chuckled enigmatically, his mouth gleaming gold in the dim pub light.

“Just be careful, love,” he said. “He may only be a boy, but he’ll be a man soon. You would do well not to underestimate him.” And he shuffled off, crunching salty snacks as he went.

“What was that all about?” Arthur whispered.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Merlin murmured back.

Merlin and Arthur stood together, quietly, at the busy bar, shoulder to shoulder, backs of their hands together, each leaning back with the other elbow propped up on the bar, holding their drinks and listening to the hum of conversation. Arthur could feel their knuckle hairs touching, and had a profound urge to see how it felt to fit his fingers into the gaps between Merlin's. Hastily he pulled his hand away, and stood up straighter, realising as he did so that he was marring the otherwise perfect symmetry of their stance.  
  
He tuned into the general conversation. It seemed that all was still not well with the Albion band’s finances.

“It’s all very well,” Gwen was saying, gesturing animatedly while she spoke, “but football and concert ticket sales haven’t generated enough funds to cover the costs of the coach for the contest and the new soprano for Perce. What else can we do? Thinking caps on, people.”

Lance gazed at her adoringly. Gwen’s pint of Guinness stood half-finished in front of her, and she had a froth mustache on her upper lip. Lance leaned in and carefully wiped it off with a gentle thumb. Arthur and Merlin exchanged knowing looks. Gwaine mimed sticking a finger down his throat, at which Merlin laughed out loud, stretching his head right back, exposing his long, white neck. Arthur, lips twitching unconsciously, coughed and turned away from this arresting sight.

More drinks were quaffed to fuel the thinking caps, and the suggestions for fundraising activities became more and more outrageous. Gwaine suggested a naked mud-wrestling competition, which everyone agreed would be a bit too over the top; Sophia suggested a Bridge competition, which everyone thought would be a bit stuffy.

“I know, what about the Full Monty,” joked Arthur without thinking and everyone stared at him. “You know,” he ploughed on, ignoring an insistent voice in his head that was telling him to shut up, “that movie where all the lads do a strip show to raise a bit of cash? It had Robert Carlyle in it…” perhaps best not to dwell too much, in public, on his teen fantasies about Robert Carlyle. “There are some attractive men in the band aren’t there? We could easily raise a few hundred in ticket sales…”

He’d been joking but with mounting horror he realised that the girls were instantly in favour.

“The boys do the stripping, the girls do the music” said Gwen looking at Lance with sparkling eyes. “Arthur you are a genius. You’ll do it won’t you boys? Who’s in? Let’s have a show of hands. Lance?” 

It was clear to Arthur that Lance would do absolutely anything Gwen asked him to – and that Gwen was very much looking forward to the show. Lance raised his hand.

“Hmm, intriguing,” drawled Gwaine, face alarmingly delighted. He looked speculatively round at the other men in the room, and raised his hand. "I'm in!"  
  
Mordred, looking excited, raised his hand too.  
  
"Not you, Mordred," Gwen frowned. Mordred's eyes flattened and Arthur shivered suddenly.

Leon, Percival and Elyan, not to be outdone, raised their hands. Gwen looked pointedly at Arthur.

 _“Uh-oh,”_  thought Arthur. Him and his big mouth. He racked his brains for a way out of this self-imposed predicament. He looked over at Merlin, whose face now resembled the Edvard Munch painting “The Scream”, as he silently mouthed “no no no no” over and over again. Arthur girded his loins. If Merlin was going to be such a big girl about it, Arthur was definitely not going to chicken out. He reached out to catch hold of Merlin’s wrist and raised that at the same time as his own, to deafening cheers.

“Come on Merlin,” he said, grinning at his struggling prisoner. “The new boys have got to stick together?” and held onto Merlin’s wrist with a steely grip as the leaner man tried desperately to escape.

“I reckon the girls should do their bit as well, though,” Gwaine said, beaming. “All right girls, we’ll do it IF, and only if, you agree to do something naked in return.” The girls scowled.

But then Mithian nodded.

“OK boys,” she said. “That’s fair. You do The Full Monty, and we’ll do Calendar Girls. You know, that movie where the Womens Institute made a tasteful nude calendar to raise funds. OK Girls?”

The pub went quiet for a moment and then Elena, Gwen and Sophia started to object, all talking at once. Mithian rolled her eyes. “Come on girls, we can do this. It’ll be artistic, tasteful, not full frontal, we can do strategic placement of our instruments, music stands and sheet music. It’ll be fine.” Mordred's eyes were like saucers; Arthur could almost hear Mordred's mind working, and wished he could blank it out.

“Oh all right then,” said Sophia reluctantly. “As long as we get to watch the boys, and we get to choose our photographer that’s fine.”

But as the rest of the band drank to the new venture, Merlin finally wrenched his wrist out of Arthur’s grip, and glared at him accusingly as he stumbled away from the bar and towards the door, breathing heavily. Arthur followed him to the door, touched him on the shoulder to turn him round.

“Hey,” said Arthur, puzzled and a bit concerned. Merlin flinched away from Arthur’s touch as if he’d been scorched. He was actually trembling, Arthur thought. He wasn’t sure what had gone wrong, but somehow he’d made a big mistake.

“FUCK you Arthur. Don’t touch me!” Merlin hissed eventually, voice wobbling, watery eyes flicking towards the rest of the group, who hadn’t yet noticed that something was amiss. Arthur winced.

“Merlin, are you OK?” Arthur said softly “I’m sorry I assumed …”

“You… you… presumptuous arse. You bullying prick. You have no fucking idea,” Merlin said tightly, grabbing his coat and putting it on, fumbling in his pocket for his mobile phone. He dialled a number as he stepped outside, Arthur following, concerned.

“Gaius? Can you come and get me? No no it’s OK. I’m OK. Really," but Arthur could hear his voice cracking, could tell that Merlin was definitely not OK. "But now, now would be good. The Rising Sun. Please.” Merlin’s fingers were shaking. His pupils were dilated and he looked on the edge of a full blown panic attack, as if he would pass out any minute.

“Arthur. You have to go. You have to go now,” he said, sounding desperate. “Don’t touch me,” he warned again. Arthur raised his hands above his head.

“Merlin, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not going to leave you out here alone until I know you’re all right. I won’t touch you either, if that’s what you want? Look, no hands.”

“Don’t speak to me either. Arthur bloody Pendragon. Just. Don’t.”

Merlin was juddering, taking gasping breaths, hyperventilating, arms folded round himself. But Arthur did as he had been asked, and stayed an arms’ length away, not looking at Merlin, hands in pockets, not speaking, until Gaius’s lumbering figure appeared from the band room and crossed the street to the pub. Arthur let out the breath he didn’t realise he’d held.

“Merlin my boy? Merlin what happened. Merlin, it’s all right now. Just… come to the car.” Merlin had folded in on himself but let Gaius lead him away. Arthur made to follow but Gaius stilled him with a grim shake of his head.

“Just let me know he’s OK,” he whispered to Gaius, who nodded.

Arthur leaned against the wall, letting his head thud against the cold bricks, feeling like he'd somehow snuffed out something delicate before it had ever had a chance to be kindled into life, but he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know what Pork Scratchings are, be grateful. They are by no means confined to Yorkshire, but they are never knowingly consumed in the absence of beer.


	10. SOS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He insults me all the time, puts me down, tells me I’m a talentless buffoon, but get this, it’s OK because I hear his voice say the words, and I believe them to be true, so I trust him OK? Because he’s telling the truth about me, I am an idiot, and worthless… but his eyes say something else, something warm and playful and kind, and I just want…"

“Freya?”

“Merlin? What…?”

“Freya, God I’m sorry, it’s really late.” Merlin sighed. It was a stupid time to be calling someone, but he needed to talk; he knew it made his uncle too uncomfortable discussing this, and he couldn’t really talk to his sodding flat-mate, Will, not in a million years. But Freya knew. She was like him. She understood.

“Merlin, it’s OK. Did something happen to you?”

“Not really. No. I just need… to talk to someone. Is it all right to talk for a bit?”

“Of course. Shall I come round?”

“No, no Freya, don’t come out, I know you won’t feel safe. Let’s just talk, OK?” And he wished his voice was a bit steadier, wished he could speak above a whisper.

“That’s fine Merlin. What is the matter?” Her voice was kind, and he was so grateful for her, knew that he was lucky to have her as a friend, because she had nearly died when she was attacked, and many times afterwards at her own hand, before he even met her, and since. And if she'd died, who could he have talked to then?

“I… freaked out a bit in the pub. Tonight. I think… I think… I need to apologise to Arthur but I don’t know how.” He let out an involuntary sob, and a noisy sniff, wiping his eyes and nose disgustingly on the back of his hoodie. “I can’t tell him about…. About everything. Not yet.” Merlin breathed slowly in and out as Gaius had taught him. In out. In out. Freya was silent at the other end of the line, waiting for Merlin to ground himself.

Finally he was able to go on. He told her about the proposed strip show, his reaction to it, his panic attack.

“So you see Freya, I really need to talk to him, but I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands into his wet eyes. “He was incredibly sweet and concerned actually, and I yelled at him and swore. He never swears, Freya, have you noticed that? No? I guess you haven’t really spoken to him have you! Sorry!”

Of course, he silently berated himself for his self-centredness. Freya didn’t talk to men. Well, she talked to him, but he didn’t count. He knew. He was like her. He understood.

He was a victim too.

They’d met at the rape crisis centre, at the victim support group, when he moved to Camelot. And he had helped her, they had helped each other.

“Freya, I fucked it up. I am disgusting, and I’m damaged, and I’m soiled, and I’m fucked in the head, and I can never be good enough for him. Freya what am I going to do? I like him, I really, really like him,” and his eyes filled with tears again. Jayzus, poor Freya didn’t deserve this, he had to get his shit together.

“He insults me all the time, puts me down, tells me I’m a talentless buffoon, but get this, it’s OK, because I hear his voice say the words, and I believe them to be true, so I trust him, OK? Because he’s telling the truth about me; I am an idiot, and worthless… but his eyes say something else, something warm and playful and kind, and I just want… I just want…. How fucked up am I? I’m such a fuck-up Freya…” and now he was shouting at her down the phone, and banging the wall, so his hand hurt, AND sobbing, and he could hear Will in the next room turn his music up to mask the noise. Bloody effing chuffing sod.

But she was shushing him down the phone, telling him to shut up, that Arthur deserved an explanation, that he should trust Arthur, that it was all going to be OK. And he nodded, although she couldn’t see him. His breath settled down and he gulped, breathing deeply.

“Ok” he whispered eventually. “I’ll do it. Thanks Freya. Thank you. I don’t know what…”

“It’s OK Merlin. Just talk to him. He’s not an ogre. He trusted you when you helped him after the football. I have a feeling that he will be good for you Merlin. You just need to explain. OK? Do that for yourself. You don’t need to tell him everything. Just tell him you’ve got some problems, that you’re working them out, that it’s not his fault. Tell him that Merlin. Remember that. It’s not his fault, and it’s not yours either. It never was.”

He carried on nodding and spent the night on top of the bed, fully clothed, with his mobile in his hand. In the morning he made some calls and steeled himself to send a text.


	11. Love isn't Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “OK. Sorry. Sorry Arthur. Actually that’s what I wanted to say. Sorry I mean. I wanted to apologise. Erm. For my melt down yesterday? It wasn’t your fault. And thank you. For stayin’ with me. And not telling the others. So... sorry. And thank you. Well. That’s it. Really.” Merlin nodded vigorously. “Thanks.” And the idiot went to stand up and walk away, still avoiding eye contact. Arthur grabbed his arm and tugged it, made Merlin sit down.

Arthur gazed blearily at his phone when it beeped. He couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong the previous night. He remembered the broken, defeated look that Merlin had about him when Gaius led him away to his car, and wondered what could have happened to irrepressible, joyful, mischievous Merlin to make him react like that. But now his phone was beeping at him through his hazy hungover fug. He looked at it; a text from Merlin.

_Need 2 talk 2u 2 Xplain RU bz 2day m8? CU B4 band 2nite 4 a drink? m x_

Hmm. He thought the “x” at the end probably signified a kiss, which was a good sign, but the rest of the message was completely unintelligible. Arthur frowned and replied:

_Have aliens eaten your fingers Merlin? You appear unable to type. Arthur. x_

He waited a few minutes for the reply, before going off for a shower. When he returned his phone was flashing at him.

_yes_

Arthur grinned and typed

_Is this why you blew me off last night? Alien zombie apocalypse in Camelot or something? Arthur. x_

He took his mobile into the kitchen and munched some toast before the next message appeared.

_wld rather xplain in person rising sun at 7pm_

Arthur frowned before typing a final message

_I’ll be there. I’ll bring some punctuation marks and capital letters with me. You seem to have run out. Arthur. x_

That evening, Merlin turned up at the pub eventually, a good twenty minutes late, the tosser. Arthur contented himself with a few pointed comments about Merlin’s incompetence rather than wading in with a a full-blooded evisceration, which could wait until later.

Merlin sat down on a bar stool with his vile pink drink and coughed, shuffling his legs and scratching his head, picking nervously at his arm, biting his lip and generally avoiding looking Arthur in the eye. 

“Merlin, for heaven’s sake, it’s not a job interview. Calm down, OK?”

“OK. Sorry. Sorry Arthur. Actually that’s what I wanted to say. Sorry I mean. I wanted to apologise. Erm. For my melt down yesterday? It wasn’t your fault. And thank you. For stayin’ with me. And not telling the others. So... sorry. And thank you. Well. That’s it. Really.” Merlin nodded vigorously. “Thanks.” And the idiot went to stand up and walk away, still avoiding eye contact. Arthur grabbed his arm and tugged it, made Merlin sit down, and looked him in the eye.

“Merlin, please don't run away,” he said. “I should not have made assumptions about you, I’m really sorry. There. Now let’s sit and have a drink together. OK?”

Merlin lost a bit of the tension in his body. “OK.” And he took a slurp from his pink drink, pulling a face. “Don’t really fancy this actually, just before a rehearsal.” He grinned sheepishly. “Don’t know why I asked for it.”

“Because, Merlin, you are a witless buffoon.” said Arthur, fondly. They sat there in companionable silence for a bit. Arthur looked sideways at Merlin and then bumped his arm with his shoulder.

“You said you were going to explain?”

“I did? I did. Right. Well. Obviously, I will. I will.” Merlin harrumphed into his drink and looked uncomfortable. Then he took a deep breath and turned to look at Arthur. He looked terrified. Arthur tried to think of something to say to calm him down, but decided that silence was golden. Merlin looked down at his fingers. His knuckles were pink, and the nails bitten right down. He looked up again, eyes black in the dim pub light.

“The thing is Arthur,” he began, hoarsely, “I don’t even know if I can tell you—or anyone else—all of it. But I can tell you some of it. I think.” He looked away, swallowing.

“It happened a long time ago, 5 years ago. I was 15 years old. Cocky, out and proud, thought I knew it all. I didn’t.” He pulled a rueful face. “It’s not an easy thing to be, out and proud, and underage, in a small town in Northern Ireland, as I discovered pretty fast.”

He gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing, breathing fast, drumming on the bar with long, nervous fingers. Without thinking Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand, to still it, holding it in two of his, drawing circles on Merlin’s palm, face calm.

“I was attacked,” Merlin continued eventually, his eyes and voice intense with the memory. “Three of them. I knew them. I knew who they were. They stripped me, beat me, held me down and raped me. One at a time. Called me names. Pissed on me. Laughed at me. Ran off with my clothes. Threatened that they’d hurt my mum if I ever told anyone." His voice trembled when he mentioned his mother.  _The sweet soft-hearted melon-head_ , thought Arthur.  _Obviously it was his mother that needed protecting here._  
  
"I walked home, alone, naked and terrified.” His words were bare, shocking, shorn of emotion. He peeped at Arthur through his lashes, gauging his reaction.

Arthur was shocked at his sudden intense, homicidal rage. He wanted to murder the bastards who’d done this, smash them to a pulp and jump on the pieces. He schooled his features to remain calm, bit his lip to stop himself from speaking. His heart was racing and he shook his head—in sympathy, not disbelief.

“I’m OK. Really I am. I’m doing a lot better these days, really," continued Merlin. "I've got some issues, but I'm working them out with  help. It was a long time ago."  
  
He drew a breath.  
  
"But... there are triggers. Last night... Public nudity… being coerced into public nudity… no. That didn’t feel good.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Arthur hoarsely. “I didn’t know.”

Merlin nodded.  
  
“Well, now you do.” He’d stopped fidgeting now and seemed relieved; he’d got the worst part out into the open. “They’re in jail now, they got in trouble and ended up inside. Mum and I moved away, we went to Ealdor and started a new life, and I started putting myself back together.”  
  
A lot of details had clearly been glossed over in this terse summary of events, thought Arthur, but he didn't want to push Merlin into revealing more than he wanted to. He held gently onto Merlin’s hand while he searched for the right words. He knew how easily the victims of such attacks blamed themselves, hated themselves, how they struggled with trust, with intimacy, with relationships. He’d seen it all. Through his mother, who had never come to terms with being attacked. He maintained the connection with Merlin’s hand and looked at him seriously, eye to eye.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said eventually. “You can trust me, Merlin. Believe it or not, it’s OK to tell me about this.” Merlin looked up and nodded. Arthur sat back on his chair with a sigh, shaking his head. “My mum is... was… a rape victim. I understand more than you realise.” Merlin’s breath hitched when he heard that revelation. The two men sat in silence for a minute or two. Arthur realised he was still holding Merlin’s hand. He didn’t let go.

“Merlin,” he went on, tentatively. There was one thing he had to know. “Are you getting any professional help?”

Merlin nodded, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. His mother hadn’t. She had withdrawn into her shell, not spoken to anyone. He often felt things might have been different if she had had access to counselling.

“It’s OK, Arthur,” said Merlin. “Most of the time I’m fine. Last night, it was the shock I suppose.” He looked down and swallowed and said in a small voice, “but I understand if you don’t want to be… involved with me. I know I'm a fuck-up…” he trailed off, muttering about self-esteem issues and looking away.

“Merlin!” said Arthur, swallowing his hurt that his friend would think him so shallow and callous. “Now you really are being an idiot!” Merlin smiled wanly but still didn’t let go Arthur’s hand.

“Look,” Arthur carried on. “I’m not very… articulate I suppose. I just wanted you to know that you… I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but you are…” Arthur sighed. He really was rubbish at this sort of thing. “I know I keep insulting you all the time but I want you to know that it’s not because I think badly of you. I don’t. I think the world of you actually. I just wanted you to know that.” He was warming to his topic. “I mean it. I think you’re… amazing. You take my breath away. We’ve known each other—what—two months? And I don’t know how it’s happened, because we are so different, but really I think you’re my closest friend, and I would do anything for you.”

There. He’d said it. He gave himself a mental pat on the back. He’d actually articulated real, true feelings without making a joke about them. Merlin gaped at him and then smiled sweetly, eyes crinkling.

“Anything?” said Merlin, lifting a suggestive eyebrow.

Arthur smiled back, heart swelling at the thought that Merlin trusted him enough to flirt again, and resolving to deserve that trust.

“Anything you’ll let me,” he clarified. Merlin chuckled, then frowned and peered at him, as if realising something.

“Was?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“You said your mother… ‘was’… a rape victim. Not ‘is’”

“Ah. Yes. She took her life,” said Arthur simply. Merlin’s eyes widened.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry. Your mother—Jayzus Arthur,”

Arthur nodded and pulled Merlin’s hand towards him. The more he understood about Merlin, he thought, the more certain he felt that they could be good together—scratch that, they could be great together—but that it would take time, they would need to take care with one another, while each of them confronted their demons. Absently he drew Merlin’s hand towards his mouth, eyes closing, and gently brushed Merlin’s elegant fingers with his lips, decision made.

“Merlin?” Arthur said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while now. And now is probably not the right time, but there never seems to be a right time, so it’s going to be now anyway. Merlin, I would like it—very much—if you would… would you like to… maybe…” he gulped. This was so difficult. What if Merlin ran away again? Arthur didn’t think his heart could bear it.

He tried again.

“I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to, but if you feel you could, it would be really lovely if we could… if you would like to… maybe go for a meal or something? With me? As a. You know. Date?“

Merlin smiled like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, and Arthur was lost in the perfect imperfection of that smile.

“Yes,” said Merlin.


	12. Angeleyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Merlin,” drawled Arthur. “You really are unique. I think this is the first time I've turned up to pick up a date, only to discover that they have neglected to dress themselves.”

On the day of the date Merlin went to the gym, showered (twice), styled his hair (twice), called Gwaine asking for advice on what to wear, tried and discarded three outfits, called Gwen asking advice what to talk about, called Freya for moral support, shaved, applied after-shave, put on moisturiser, polished his shoes, cleaned his teeth, flossed, primped, fretted and fussed. He looked around his bedsit; every item of clothing he possessed littered the floor. He checked his watch. It was 3pm. Four hours to go until the date. He sighed, and willed himself to tidy up his bedroom (just in case he got lucky). That took him to 3.30pm. Then he had another shower, for good measure, in case he had got himself all sweaty while he vacuumed the floor.

By 4pm he stood in his tidy room, still undecided what to wear, clad in only a “Doctor Who” towel, and sought inspiration from his muse, his beloved flugelhorn. So he set up a music stand, popped his battered copy of “Arban” on it, and got Gloria out of her case. He lovingly polished her with his instrument cloth, checked all her valves and spit valves, cleaned her mouthpiece, did a few warm-up exercises to get the blood flowing to his lips, and then lost himself for a good hour and a half in some serious technical challenges.

Then, flipping the Arban off the stand, he closed his eyes. Starting with some remembered passages from Arban and a soul that was fused to Muddy Waters, he reached into his heart and played blues to an imaginary inner accompaniment. He might have lost track of time, a bit.

Merlin looked up in horror when he heard a polite cough, and saw an immaculately dressed Arthur leaning against the doorframe of his bedsit, lip curling in a sarcastic grin, eyes accusing. He scrambled to replace Gloria in her case and looked at his watch. It was 7.15pm. Fuck.

“Merlin,” drawled Arthur. “You really are unique. I think this is the first time I've turned up to pick up a date, only to discover that they have neglected to dress themselves.”

“Arthur, fuck, I'm sorry! But don’t you ever knock?” said Merlin at last. “I lost track of the time! Give me a minute, would you?” Fucking shitting bollocks. He’d screwed up the date already and it hadn’t even started yet. Arthur chuckled at his discomfort, eyes softening.

“I did knock, Merlin." he said, trying to sneer, except somehow he couldn't really pull it off, because it looked like he was trying not to laugh at the same time. "Several times. Indeed I pounded. I thumped. I banged. I buzzed, yelled and growled. I almost turned round and went home. However, I knew you were in, because I could hear the sort of music that only an annoyingly talented, long-limbed flugelhorn player makes when he’s being an idiot and forgets that he’s going on a date. Eventually, your terrifyingly terse flat mate got sick of me shouting ‘open up, Merlin, you moron’ at the buzzer, and let me in.”

“Oh, fuck, Arthur, I’m sorry, of course I hadn't forgotten, I just got a bit carried away, I was nearly ready hours ago, I just… ” and Merlin felt so miserable, he wished he could just disappear. Seeing this, Arthur stepped up to him, lifted his chin with a finger, and said, softly, “Hey. Your lips look pretty… erm… tired. You must have been playing for a while.” And planted a gentle kiss on said lips, so swift that Merlin almost felt he’d imagined it, although he could still feel them tingling. He managed to raise a shaky smile, and Arthur smiled back at him, warming him with the tender expression in his eyes.

“Yeah,” confessed Merlin. “I tend to get a bit caught up when I play blues.”

“It sounded good,” acknowledged Arthur. “I’d like to try that style of music some time, but never got the hang of improvising. Never really had an opportunity I suppose.”

“It’s my favourite music,” said Merlin. “We should play blues together. I could teach you! Improvisation’s fun! I’d love to play with you…”

“I’d love to play with you too,” said Arthur huskily; his eyes had drifted south, and Merlin realised that only a cotton simulacrum of Matt Smith screened his nether regions. He blushed beetroot-red under Arthur’s hungry gaze. Arthur smirked and retreated, saying he’d wait in the lounge, while Merlin hastily dressed.

Five minutes later he took a look at himself in the long mirror in the hallway, dissatisfied. He’d settled for a fitted, blue silk shirt (no tie), and his midnight blue velvet suit. His lips had a pink halo from his earlier practice and his hair had gone back to its usual shaggy demeanour. However, they were already late for their dinner appointment, so there would be no time for further alterations to his appearance. He nervously stepped out to the lounge. Arthur rose from the sofa. He looked like the answer to all Merlin’s prayers; he too had opted for a dark suit and shirt with no tie; he looked elegant, broad-shouldered, his startling blue eyes rendered black by the dim night, blond hair glowing. Merlin gaped, stunned, and grinned when Arthur shyly presented him with a bunch of flowers.

“I’m not a girl, you know,” he said, accepting the gift, and blushing to give the lie to his words, “but thanks anyway.” He stepped into the kitchen to put the flowers in some water. Arthur, at his side, didn’t reply at first; instead he watched Merlin appreciatively, as he pottered round the little kitchen, before stepping up to kiss him on the cheek, one hand in Merlin’s hair, lingering to inhale Merlin’s scent, lips parted.

“Merlin, you look—and smell—simply sensational,” he purred.

“So do you,” gulped Merlin as his partner stepped away and gestured to the door.

“Your carriage awaits, sir!” said Arthur with a small bow. Merlin giggled at Arthur’s mock gallantry, and followed him out of the flat to get in the waiting taxi.

They were en route to a restaurant that they both had been to before with others, but this time it was different, because this time it was a proper *date*. Merlin cleared his throat and tentatively reached his hand towards Arthur’s, threading their fingers together. Their hands slotted together perfectly; warm and comforting, each of them smiling at the other.

“A’right, love,” said the taxi driver. “Where’s it to be tonight then eh?”

Merlin and Arthur strode through the door of the restaurant, and Merlin felt, rather than saw, every eye turning towards them. He hoped that Arthur wouldn’t notice. Arthur however relished the attention. As they walked, hand in hand, past a group of girls, Merlin heard one of them whisper, with broad Yorkshire vowels:

“By ‘eck! That blond bloke’s drop-dead gorgeous,” and he couldn’t help agreeing in his head. But another one was saying, “Aye, but you can keep him, his mate’s lush,” and then, as the girls noticed their entwined hands, disappointed groans. “It’s a crying shame, all the best-looking ones are always gay,” said another.

Arthur smiled at the girls as he walked past but Merlin, blushing, tried not to meet anyone’s eye.

As they sat and perused the menu, Merlin could feel Arthur’s eyes upon him.

“What?” he said looking up.

“Nothing,” said Arthur. “I just wondered if you have chosen what you want yet?” and he took a sip of water.

Merlin looked appraisingly at Arthur’s intent blue eyes, prominent cheekbones, and iron jaw. His gaze roved across the well-defined muscles in Arthur’s wrists, silver cufflinks in the shape of a dragon, taking in the way close-fitting shirt-sleeves caressed Arthur’s broad, manly shoulders and chest, and hovered around the place at Arthur’s open shirt neck where he could see a sprinkling of chest hairs. He gulped.

“I think so,” he said in a low voice, leaning forward, putting his best smoulder into his gaze as he swivelled his eyes up to meet Arthur’s. “I do believe I have.” And, slipping off his shoe under the table, he extended a besocked foot until his big toe hooked under Arthur’s trouser leg and rubbed against the skin of his calf, just above the sock line.

Arthur coughed and nearly spat out his water.

“But I’m not entirely sure,” continued Merlin, smirking, “I can’t choose between the Arthur carpaccio with a Pendragon jus, or whether to go the whole hog and have the trio of Arthur with Pendragon shavings.” 

“Merlin!” Arthur choked. “Have you been taking lessons in shameless flirting from Gwaine? Anyway, I thought you were a vegetarian!”

The two men laughed.

“Seriously, though,” Arthur went on, “I want you to know that I have decided something.” His eyes were still warm but no longer playful.

“What?”

Arthur looked away and took another sip of water before returning thoughtful eyes to Merlin.

“Merlin, I don’t want to lead you on, so I need to tell you this now. I want to take this slowly, Merlin, and I have no intention of…” he huffed, turning pink, and looking away again before resuming. “No intention of sleeping with you tonight.”

Merlin felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He wasn’t good enough for Arthur, he knew that, Arthur didn’t want him. He felt small, embarrassed. He drew in a breath and it sounded a bit like a sob. Arthur sighed and took his hand across the table. Merlin flinched and tried to pull away.

“Don’t look like that, Merlin, I haven’t killed a puppy! Oh God, this is so hard! Merlin, you idiot, I think you are a charming, utterly breathtaking, beautiful man, and I don’t want to take things too fast with you, because I don’t want you to run away from me again. That’s all. And I do want to have sex with you, you silly, silly man, how could I not when you sit there and your eyes are too blue, your ears are too big, your cheekbones are too well defined, you’re too skinny and sarcastic, and you flirt with me one moment and then look like you want to run away the next, and you’re just so perfect, how could I not want you… how can you think that?”

Arthur’s face had gone pink and his hitherto perfectly-coiffed hair was sticking up where he’d rubbed it during this speech. He looked incredibly young and vulnerable. Merlin just wanted to kiss away the pout on his lips.

“Sorry,” whispered Merlin. “I panic.”

“And that, Merlin, is why we’re not going to rush anything. I want… I want to unwrap you one layer at a time, I don’t want to rip you open and tear you apart.”

Merlin smiled slowly, eyes prickling wetly at Arthur’s sweetness.

“OK!” he said. “OK,” he said, and wiped his eye surreptitiously. “In that case… I suppose I’ll have to have the pumpkin and white truffle risotto instead.”

The two men exchanged a serious look for a long moment and then simultaneously burst out laughing as the waiter came to take their order.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of conversation and laughter. They talked about everything: sport, politics, religion, music, their families, their homes, their friends.

“So, Arthur,” said Merlin seriously at one point. “Morgana is your half-sister?”

Arthur frowned.

“That arch-bitch,” he said. “Yes.”

“It doesn’t sound like you are close?”

Arthur sighed and shook his head.

“No. We have never got on. She always resented me, and my mother and father, I suppose, ever since my father left her mother when she was very young, and married my mum. I suppose that, the way she saw it, my mum supplanted her mother in my father’s affections. I understand, now, that it must have hurt, and she could have come to resent me.” Arthur’s gaze was reflective, but hardened as he went on. “But that does not excuse her actions. Morgana wrote to my mum after the rape, stating that it was mum’s own fault she was raped, and that she wasn’t surprised,” Arthur pulled a face. “I found the letter when mum died, along with the suicide note. I was 17.”

Merlin was horrified; his heart was heavy for Arthur, and he didn’t want to pry, but oh God, had Arthur found his mother when she died? And found the incriminating letter from Morgana? Merlin could weep at that.

“How could she do that? Fucking hell, Arthur, that’s seriously twisted.”

Arthur nodded. “I have not spoken a civil word to her since. This latest thing of hers with Mercia Mills Brass Band is another thinly disguised attempt to destroy my father. She doesn't miss any opportunity to stick the boot in.”

Merlin fought back his impulse to declare murderous thoughts about Morgana. Arthur had clearly spent a lot of time working things through since then. He thought about his own small family – his mum, Hunith, struggling to make ends meet on her own in Northern Ireland, and his kind Uncle Gaius. His family may be small, and poor, and in Gaius’s case more than a little bit shabby-looking, but he wouldn't swap it with Arthur’s, not for all the money in the world.

And Arthur, God, poor Arthur. He deserved better than that. Merlin, in the time that he had known him, had discovered that despite his reserve, Arthur was kind and generous to a fault, warm and solicitous of others, honourable and empathetic. He buried his innate sincerity and honesty beneath a veneer of sarcasm and disdain—and hearing about the twisted machinations of Arthur’s extended family, Merlin thought he could understand why.

Merlin had an enormous admiration for his friend, who had somehow managed to work through his feelings and even empathise with the half-sister who had caused him so much hurt. He felt a burning desire to protect Arthur from further pain.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” he said. “We’re a right pair, aren't we, you and me!” He entwined Arthur’s fingers in his, and smiled warmly. The conversation turned to lighter topics.

By the time they were washing their dessert down with coffee, the restaurant was emptying and Merlin had a glowing buzz about him. He realised that he’d never felt so relaxed on a first date before. Arthur insisted on acting the gentleman and paying for absolutely everything, and then escorted Merlin home in another taxi, scooting up the steps to Merlin’s flat, to make sure that he got home safely.

Merlin turned to say goodbye.

“Thank you, Arthur,” he said. “I had a wonderful evening with you.”

“And you, Merlin,” said Arthur quietly. He leaned towards Merlin, tugged on Merlin’s hand, drew it up to his cheek and turned into it to kiss Merlin’s palm.

“Your hands,” Arthur said softly, shaking his head. “Evil, teasing hands, drove me insane when you gave me that massage.”

Merlin’s breath hitched and he gathered Arthur’s head into his hands, soft blond hairs like silk between his fingers, pulling him in.

“Arthur,” he breathed, leaning forwards.

“Your lips, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, closing his eyes, surrendering. The kiss was soft and fleeting. Tingles ghosted down Merlin’s spine. He turned his head, trembling, mouth parted, groaning as he let Arthur’s tongue whisper into him, feeling giddy from the heat of Arthur’s body pressed up against his, whining as Arthur withdrew gently, smiling, until only the tips of their fingers touched.

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur said and released Merlin’s hands.

“Wait!” said Merlin as Arthur turned. “Arthur. Would you… I mean to say…” he gulped and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’d like to do this again. Have a date, I mean. Together, not necessarily go to the same restaurant I mean. Although it was a wonderful restaurant. I would like to see you again. That’s what I’m trying to say.” He was gabbling and grateful to Arthur when he interrupted.

“I thought you’d never ask! Of course, I’d love to see you again.” Arthur smiled like he’d won the lottery.

“Okay, my treat this time. Wednesday evening OK? I’ll drop round to pick you up. At 7pm. On the dot.” Merlin grinned back, trying not to look too insanely happy, as Arthur nodded. He’d got the perfect date in mind.

They waved at each other, blowing kisses. He stepped inside and closed the door, tiptoeing into his room, and lay on his bed, Cheshire-cat grin plastered to his face.

He went over the events of the evening, and felt himself starting to harden as he remembered that sizzling, tantalising kiss. Smiling, he rummaged into the drawer at his bedside, pulling out a jar of coconut oil. He freed and palmed his heavy, hard prick for a moment before shucking off his clothes. Excitement building, he slicked up his hands with oil and slathered them around his erection. The smell of coconut oil reminded him of the afternoon he’d spent massaging Arthur; he could picture Arthur’s naked arse tensing under his touch, hear the deep groans he pulled from Arthur when he dug into those taut, tired muscles. He moaned softly as he imagined pressing his cock into the hot, dark crack between Arthur’s buttocks, and with a few fast, slippery strokes he came, panting, into the tangled bedclothes, Arthur’s name on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean-Baptiste Arban's 'Complete Conservatory Method for Trumpet (Cornet) or Eb Alto, Bb Tenor, Baritone, Euphonium and Bb Bass in Treble Clef', although published in 1864, is still in print. 
> 
> It is pretty universally accepted to be THE reference volume for any serious player of valved brass instruments.
> 
> Many consider it to be the work of a lifetime to master all the exercises in this volume. 
> 
> Needless to say, Arthur has mastered, and memorised, every one. 
> 
> Merlin just likes the tunes.


	13. I Am Just A Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it came to Gwen’s turn she sat, self-consciously, on the chair and wished she played a larger instrument. She had to settle for a slightly obscene pose involving a cup mute covering one boob, and a Harmon mute strategically placed to cover the other, with her cornet resting on an instrument cloth on her lap.

Chapter 13: I Am Just A Girl

 

It was the day of the much-awaited "Calendar Girls" naked photo shoot. Gwen had done everything she could to keep the date secret from those (chiefly Gwaine) who wished to sabotage or spy on the event. She had not even told Lance when and where it was happening, because Lance, bless him, was just so honest and kind that he would have been unable to keep himself from telling Gwaine. And she suspected that Gwaine would have liked to gate crash, and turn the whole event in something sordid and unsavoury, whereas she wanted to keep it tasteful and artistic.

She'd managed, by virtue of her position as treasurer on the Band committee, to secure the keys to the band room for the purposes of "doing an inventory of the instruments, music and other equipment". In the meantime, as well as Mithian, Sophia, and Elena, she'd cajoled both Alice and Freya into the photo shoot on the understanding that (a) they could cover up as much as they wanted to, and (b) the photographer would be another woman.

Alice was the second Euphonium player, a pleasant-faced woman in her fifties. She, like Gaius, was a medical practitioner – some sort of nurse – and it had long been rumoured that she and Gaius had once been an “item”. Gwen was secretly proud that she’d managed to twist Alice’s arm into joining in today, although in fairness the older woman hadn’t really needed much persuading.

The girls gathered in the band room just before noon, and Gwen handed round a list of suggested poses for each of them to consider, cross-referenced to potential months of the year.

“Take your time, ladies,” she said. “It’s just a guideline, no need to stick to it like glue.

“Who’s going to be the photographer?”

“Vivian,” Gwen answered, checking her watch. “She should be here by now, I’m not sure where she has got to.”

“Vivian?” said Sophia, concerned. “I spoke to her on Thursday and she said something about going off to Paris for the weekend with Cenred.”

“What? That’s impossible, she didn’t tell me anything about it!” said Gwen, a sickening feeling in her stomach. Come to think of it, Vivian had been a bit evasive when she’d called her to make the arrangements last week. And it wouldn’t be the first time that Viv had let Gwen down at the last minute. She felt a tight ball of stress knotting behind her chest.

After the girls had been there for about half an hour, shivering in their bath robes and polishing their instruments, Gwen reluctantly conceded that Vivian, the bitch, had blown them out and buggered off to Paris without telling her.

“OK, everyone,” she sighed. “Looks like our photographer hasn’t turned up. Can we rearrange this for next week?”

“I’m busy next weekend,” said Sophia.

“The following week?”

“I’ve got an exam,” said Freya. Gwen sighed. If they didn’t get this done soon they wouldn’t have the calendar ready before the contest, which was kind of missing the point. “OK, how about we ring round and find another photographer?”

The girls all muttered, but they all concurred, and started phoning and texting around. But it did seem like every woman in Camelot who owned a digital camera was busy or out that day. Eventually Freya lifted her hand. “I’ve found someone,” she said. “But it’s a man.”

The other girls didn’t look impressed.

“I’m not having some disgusting, lecherous bloke ogling my tits while I get ready for the camera,” said Sophia.

“Me neither,” said Elena.

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind,” said Alice coyly. The others looked at her, a bit disconcerted and the band room went quiet for a minute as they digested this tidbit of information before they returned to their chatter.

“I didn’t know you had any men on your contacts list, Freya” said Gwen, puzzled.

“Only one,” Freya said, “and he’s the only one I’d trust anyway. It’s Merlin.”

And so it was that Merlin got roped into the whole thing. He rocked up to the band room at about 1 o’clock, and gave the secret knock. When Gwen opened the door Merlin just stood outside looking a bit apprehensive. Gwen had to take his arm and drag him bodily into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. By now all the girls were looking a bit jaded, and the atmosphere in the room was a little bit tense. Luckily everyone liked Merlin, and what with the purple flugel-horn and “gay pride” t-shirts he routinely wore to rehearsal, none of the girls felt remotely threatened by him.

“Are you sure you’re OK with me doing this?” asked Merlin.

“You’re all right, Merlin,” said Gwen. “You’re practically one of the girls anyway.”

“I’m NOT a girl!” protested Merlin squeakily.

Merlin looked distinctly tense while he was setting up his equipment, and he chattered constantly, which Gwen was sure he was using as a cover for his nerves. She eyed him closely. Hi did seem to be inordinately cheerful today, she reflected. And his jaw was a bit pink. Hmm.

“Well, ladies,” he was saying. “I don’t think I’ve been in a room with such a lot of scantily clad females since I trialled for the school netball team, haha, Gwen could you give me a hand with this tripod, it’s got a mind of its own, a bit like…. never mind. Alice, can you just budge over a bit, I need to… thanks.”

He paused for breath and Gwen eyed him, a mischievous thought popping into her head.

“So, Merlin, how was dinner last night?” she said.

Merlin’s tripod clattered to the floor and he swore loudly, busying himself with cleaning up.

“Dinner?” he said innocently.

“Yes! Lance and I saw you and Arthur in Restaurant 69 last night,” she said.

“Isn’t that the really swanky Michelin starred restaurant?” asked Mithian, curious.

“That’s right. Lance and I were thinking of going in, but decided it was too expensive, and I saw Merlin and Arthur sitting inside. With a bottle of wine. Both looking, I might say, rather gorgeous and dressed up to the nines. Like they were on a date.”

“Ah, yes, well anyway, can we just put the chair over there? And I’ll need to put this background up…” said Merlin, clattering around, and looking like he was trying to suppress a smile.

“So what was the food like?” asked Gwen.

“Really good,” said Merlin vaguely, feigning nonchalance.

Gwen’s smile deepened. She would bet her life he couldn’t remember a thing about the food. She knew what that blissed-out look on Merlin’s face meant. She’d seen it plastered all over her own face after her first date with Lance. She chuckled. She couldn’t quite remember when it was that Arthur and Merlin had become inseparable, she thought it probably dated to that football match, from the night of her first date with Lance. But now, from Merlin’s slightly dazed expression, she guessed that things had moved along a notch. She wondered how far, exactly, things had gone

She gave Merlin her most innocent dimpled grin.

“What did you have then?” she asked. He looked a bit taken aback, and didn’t answer at first.

“Have?”

“To eat! Merlin, you were at a restaurant, what did you have to eat?”

“Erm – it was a sort of vegetarian thing?” he said at last, nodding. “Yeah, really nice though.”

“Hmm,” she said. “And what did your date have?”

“Erm – some meat. It looked nice.”

“Aha, so it *was* a date then!” said Gwen triumphantly. “I knew it!”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open in mock horror, realising that he'd given himself away under Gwen's questioning.

“Arthur warned me about you!” he said, waggling his finger at her admonishingly. “Look out for her dimples, Merlin, he said. They hide an incisive and forensic mind of great deviousness. Can I have my first model please? Who’s Miss January?”

“For heaven’s sake girls, please stop teasing poor Merlin,” said Alice, coming over bathrobe still on, and settling down on the chair. She placed her euphonium carefully down on the floor, bell first, and crossed her legs. “Merlin dear, don’t worry, I’m not in the least bit curious about your date with Arthur.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but looked relieved.

“No, dear, I’m much more interested in what happened *after* the date,” she added, grinning evilly.

The girls all cackled and poor Merlin blushed, beetroot red to the roots of his hair. He looked absolutely mortified, and adorable at the same time, Gwen thought, even as she giggled.

“Awww!” said Sophia. “Merlin, you’re so cute when you blush! But do tell, did Arthur kiss you? Did you snog? Did you…” and she made a suggestive gesture with her tongue and fingers. Mithian and Elena were laughing so hard they looked like they were going to wet themselves and even Freya was smirking behind her hand.

“You girls are all evil, you know that?” Merlin said, lips twitching.

“We just want to know whether Arthur is good enough for you Merlin, dear,” said Alice, kindly. “As you know, I’m a sexual health nurse. So I always check certain things with the young people I know.”

Merlin gave her a look like a rabbit in the headlights.

“Oh yes,” continued Alice, rummaging in her bag. “Forgive me, Merlin, but I do hope you are both being *safe*.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about,” lied Merlin, fiddling with the camera angle, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes.

Alice took him at his word. Gwen watched her in admiration as she pulled a wooden dildo out of her bag and a condom, still in its wrapper. “I always carry these around, in case I have to demonstrate safe sex techniques to students. Would you like me to show you how to put a condom onto your partner without using your hands?”

Gwen was pretty sure that everyone in the room, with the possible exception of Freya, who was fiddling with her mobile phone and pretending to ignore what was going on, already knew how to do this from plentiful experience, and that Alice was perfectly aware of this.

“Oh yes,” chorused Sophia, Mithian and Elena. “Please show us, Alice.”

“For the love of God, please stop!” roared Merlin, laughing despite himself. “Do you want me to take these pictures or not?”

The girls all collapsed in giggles again.

“Poor Merlin,” said Gwen, rescuing him. “You know how rubbish boys are about discussing this sort of thing.”

“It isn’t actually anybody’s business except mine!” said Merlin primly.

“You’re so boring,” pouted Sophia.

Merlin sighed.

“Look,” he said, “Arthur and I are good friends, OK, and anyway, Arthur’s a complete gentleman. It’s not as if… anyway, we went for a meal, and had a couple of drinks, and Arthur dropped me back at home. That’s it.”

He looked round. All the girls were looking at him with goo-goo eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“And…?” prompted Gwen.

“And nothing!”

“Did he kiss you?” asked Mithian.

“Did he stay?” leered Sophia.

“Are you seeing him again?” asked Elena.

Merlin blushed again, mortified.

“Yes? I mean no! I mean yes, we kissed, and by the way that’s none of your business, but no he didn’t stay, and yes, I’m seeing him again, and no I’m not going to tell you where and when, and yes, that’s it, and no, I’m not saying any more, you harpies.”

“Awww…. That’s so sweet” They all said in unison.

“Enough!” he said, lifting his hands up. “Look, I’m ready to start taking pictures. Is it OK if we get on with this? I’m not talking about this any more!”

“Sorry Merlin,” said Gwen contritely. Although he still had a grin on his face, the poor boy looked like he’d really had enough.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I really don’t want to erm. Peep. So, if you wouldn’t mind I’ll turn my back while you help each other to take off your robe and sort out the pose, and then let me know when you want to turn round, and I’ll take the picture.”

“OK,” said Alice. “Turn round then, and we’ll start.”

Merlin turned, closed his eyes and covered them with his hands. Wow, thought Gwen. He really doesn’t want to see anything untoward! Poor boy.

She went over to Alice and helped to arrange euphonium, mute and music artistically so that nothing “untoward” was showing.

“OK Merlin,” she called eventually. “It’s safe to turn round now.” And Merlin turned, and started taking pictures, talking nervously all the while.

“Alice, I erm… maybe we could see you with your glasses on the end of your nose, peering at your music? Fantastic. OK, keep the bell where it is but remove the mouthpiece and look at me through it. Great! Thanks. OK now…”

When it came to Gwen’s turn she sat, self-consciously, on the chair and wished she played a larger instrument. She had to settle for a slightly obscene pose involving a cup mute covering one boob, and a Harmon mute strategically placed to cover the other, with her cornet resting on an instrument cloth on her lap.

“OK, Merlin,” she called when this was arranged to her satisfaction. “You can photograph now.”

Merlin turned and put his eye to the viewfinder. She nervously spotted that he had a crafty grin on his face when he spoke. Uh-oh.

“So, Gwen,” he said, conversationally. “How was the date with Lance then?”

“I know what you’re doing, Merlin, and it is NOT going to work,” she said firmly. She refused to let herself be interrogated about her love life.

“Really? Mithian, I think we might need another instrument cloth for Gwen, I think she has a love-bite on her neck.”

“I do NOT!” Gwen shrieked, trying to turn her head without dislodging her cornet, mutes or hair, which she thought was covering up any evidence on her neck. Sophia, Alice and Elena laughed with Merlin at her discomfort.

“Only kidding,” said Merlin smugly. “Can you extend the stem on your Harmon mute?”

“NO! I can’t move my hands!”

“I’ll do it,” said Mithian. “Hold still, Gwen.”

Merlin averted his eyes while Gwen and Mithian hastily rearranged Gwen’s props and then turned back to the matter at hand.

“So, Lance is a bit of a leech then,” Merlin resumed. “Either that or he’s been using a suction pump.”

“Stop it right now!” retorted Gwen, feeling terribly vulnerable under Merlin’s scrutiny.

“Ve haff vays of makink you talk,” said Merlin in a crude mock-German accent, waggling his lighting at her. She laughed, despite herself.

“OK, Merlin, you win. I’m sorry I embarrassed you earlier. Now please can you get on with the shoot, and I promise I won’t do it again.”

Elena insisted on having her photos taken wearing riding boots, which looked downright kinky. Mithian looked elegant, gazing soulfully into the distance and holding a strategically placed trombone case. Sophia pouted challengingly at the camera for her shots.

The “June” shot was a group photo of all three trombone players, backs to the camera, standing behind their music stands with their trombones raised to their lips.

And then it was Freya’s turn.

Gwen was worried about Freya. She’d hardly said a word all day, and although she had smiled when they were teasing Merlin earlier, now she looked tense and miserable. When Merlin called her name, she didn’t move to the chair. She looked at him sadly and her lip began to tremble. Merlin crossed over to her and knelt next to her chair, gently taking her hand.

“It’s OK, Freya,” he said softly. “It’s only me.”

She was in tears, Gwen realised in alarm.

“I can’t do it,” she said, voice so faint she could hardly be heard.

“Then don’t,” said Merlin. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You’re the one in control here.”

She nodded. Gwen looked away, a lump in her throat. She felt she was intruding on an intensely private moment. Merlin silently handed Freya her bag of clothes. Freya was pale, her eyes haunted as she watched him.

“Here,” he said, one hand on her shoulder. “There’s no shame in stopping now if you feel uncomfortable. You are awesome to get this far. I’m so proud of you.”

“I want to stop,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to let everyone down.”

Merlin shook his head.

“You’re not letting anyone down,” he said. “I tell you what. As you’re all so adamant I’m one of the girls now, how about me taking your place as Miss December?” He smiled at her. “I’ll do it if you let me borrow your instrument to hide behind!”

Freya’s look of gratitude was warm enough to melt a glacier.

“Thank you Merlin,” she said in a more normal voice. “I’m so sorry. Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. It’ll be good practice. For the whole Full Monty thing.”

“Mmm, ‘kay then”

Merlin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes when he turned to Gwen, and he had a new tension around his face. He looked pinched, but determined. She felt unaccountably moved, tears pricking her eyes, not sure what she’d just witnessed, but knowing it was somehow significant. She had a sudden profound respect for Merlin, and felt ashamed of her earlier inquisitiveness.

“Merlin,” she said. “If you’re sure you want to do this, we can make it easier for you. Choose which of us you want to take the photos and the rest of us will leave.”

He nodded his thanks.

“If you don’t mind, girls, I think I’d find it easier if Gwen took the pictures.”

The others nodded, all quiet now. Gwen handed Merlin a purple bathrobe, and he popped out of the room to get ready while they all collected their clothes and dressed themselves. When he came back in, he didn’t look comical even in Gwen’s fluffy bathrobe; he looked serious and had a little frown line between his eyes. The girls bid him farewell and one by one they left. Alice pressed a kiss to his cheek on her way out.

“You, Merlin, are one of the kindest and bravest men I have met,” she said. “I hope Arthur realises how lucky he is.”


	14. Gonna Sing You My Love Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur have a second date. But what will Arthur make of Merlin's unusual choice of date venue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thanks to those of you who have encouraged me in this madness thus far. If you're enjoying this fic, please let me know! 
> 
> The fic isn't beta'ed; I do apologise for any mistakes. Concrit welcome. 
> 
> Oh, and just a quick note about "spit valves". Brass instruments have "spit valves". Before you say "Ewwwww!", what comes out of the valve is condensation not spit. Having said that, if you are squeamish about bodily fluids, now is probably a good time to stop reading!

After that scorching snog on the doorstep of Merlin’s block of flats, it was a long few days for Arthur, waiting for Wednesday to arrive. It wasn’t as if he didn’t see Merlin—at band practice on Monday, and then on Tuesday at the first rehearsal for The Full Monty. It was just that there were other people present, and Arthur really couldn’t wait to have Merlin all to himself. He knew he had to be patient, really he did, but the thought of that kiss, those full lips on his, those strong, long, elegant fingers stroking his hair—the thought of what else he’d like to do with those fingers and lips, that saucy tongue, well, it was killing him. 

He’d had a furious and thoroughly satisfying wank when he returned home from the date with Merlin, burying his fingers in his arse and imagining Merlin’s fingers there, his tongue, his long prick, before settling into a long and dream-filled sleep in which Merlin’s clever fingers had explored him thoroughly and inquisitively, inside and out. Waking up, finding himself hard, he’d fisted his leaky cock, thrusting and pistoning with his hips, cupping his aching balls and painting ropes of semen onto his taut stomach, Merlin’s name on his lips. 

He was unable to concentrate at work; his father had commented disapprovingly when he found him staring into space rather than with his nose buried in a spreadsheet. At home, the only way he could distract himself was by masturbating repeatedly, which to be honest wasn’t much of a distraction, given his rich fantasies about how he would like to employ various parts of Merlin’s anatomy as he wanked.

The Full Monty try-out session had been illuminating. Gwaine had taken charge of the strip show; choreography seemed to be his metier, Arthur thought ruefully. Obscene choreography, he amended. During the try out, to break the ice as it were, Gwaine had instigated a competition to see who could get their clothes off the quickest. Everyone was sure that Gwaine would win, given his enthusiasm for project “strip show”, which was why they were so surprised when Arthur’s competitive instincts had propelled him into first place. Merlin had been very slow, fumbling with his belt, and had given up at the underpant stage. Arthur was really not sure that Merlin should go through with the whole “Monty” thing. It wouldn’t be good for him. He resolved to talk to him about it over dinner, or whatever other crazy evening Merlin had planned for their second date.

When the day of the date finally dawned, Arthur was not sure what to wear. Not because he was some sort of ridiculous girl, or anything. It was just that Merlin had given him strict instructions to DRESS DOWN. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever gone on a date DRESSED DOWN before, unless you counted snogging in the changing rooms after a football match as a date. He wasn’t entirely sure what DRESSED DOWN meant in this context. He settled for a pair of designer jeans and an immaculately pressed Abercrombie and Fitch polo shirt. When he answered the door, Merlin stood dressed almost entirely in black, wearing a faded tour t-shirt for some obscure indie band, ripped jeans and the scruffiest pair of converse boots he’d ever seen. He had 3 days of stubble on his chin, which failed to hide the perfect cherry colour of his lips. He looked absolutely shaggable. It was all Arthur could do not to drag Merlin inside and debauch him thoroughly in the entrance hall. 

He was also carrying a familiar-looking flugelhorn case. 

“Merlin, you weren’t kidding when you said dress down, were you?” said Arthur, trying to sneer but managing only a lecherous leer. Merlin sniggered. 

“Abercrombie and Fitch? I count that as a dressing-down fail, Arthur! Anyway, here I am,” he gestured at himself, an irresistible louche package standing on Arthur’s doorstep, “Merlin Emrys, teacher of blues to uptight classically-trained prats. Can I come in? We have just over half an hour to teach you the basics before we gig.” 

Arthur felt a huge, incredulous smile spread across his features. 

“You are not serious?” said Arthur, who had never gigged without rehearsal before.

“Yup. We’re going to Jam Night at the Black Dragon. It starts at 8, so in the meantime I’m going to teach you how to improvise,” said Merlin.

Barking out a laugh, Arthur gestured for Merlin to enter, and disappeared to find Excalibur. He got out two music stands.

“Music stands? You won’t be needing those!” said Merlin. “Blues is played from the heart, not from a sheet of paper. Close your eyes.”

Arthur had been looking forward to the date, but now he felt nervous and wrong-footed. He scowled fiercely at Merlin. The ragamuffin grinned back at him, those unfeasibly blue eyes were actually sparkling, the heartless bastard. Those grins should not be allowed out in public, thought Arthur, selfishly. They should only ever be seen in private, and I want to be the only one that gets them. They are mine, and mine alone. Fighting down the impulse to grab Merlin by the throat and tickle him mercilessly into submission, Arthur closed his eyes and awaited further instruction. 

“Better warm up a bit, check our tuning,” said Merlin. So they played a few notes, tried out a few arpeggios, and fiddled with tuning slides til they were both satisfied. 

“OK Arthur,” said Merlin, letting some water out of his spit valve with a sharp exhalation through his horn, “I’m going to play a couple of bars and then I want you to copy me, get a feel for the music. Then when you feel comfortable playing something else that seems to want to follow, just play something else. Let’s see how we go.” 

Merlin pressed his flugelhorn to his lips and played a few bars of haunting blues, and then stopped. Feeling the underlying beat of the music thrumming under his skin, Arthur responded in kind. After they’d repeated this a few times, Arthur understood what Merlin meant. Somehow he could feel the music wanting to direct him, and instead of copying Merlin’s melody he responded with something subtly different that built on it, and challenged it, and flung it right back. He opened his eyes as Merlin picked up the music where he’d left it, and played a subtle variation on his original theme. Arthur grinned as he watched, and joined in with a countermelody before Merlin had even finished his original package. It was like a conversation, he thought—a conversation about shared melancholy, angst, and loss. And at that point neither man stopped playing, they intuitively felt their way round the music, embellishing it and building new harmonies as they went. It sounded amazing, and it felt even better. 

He felt a sudden jolt when Merlin lowered his instrument, laughing, and told him it was time to stop. He wanted to carry on this strangely intimate duet, and he could understand why Merlin had lost track of time when he had called for him the previous week for their dinner date. Arthur felt euphoric. He’d done it! He’d improvised, and it was incredible, and he wanted to do it again. Packing away their horns, the two men hastened to The Black Dragon, where Arthur was surprised to see Kahill Garah propping up the bar. 

“Hi Kahill,” said Merlin, waving. 

“Strange sort of date, Merlin, with our musical director in tow!” muttered Arthur. Merlin punched his arm. 

“Arse,” he said fondly. “Don’t worry, he won’t be with us later when I teach you how to blow two horns at once!”

“Merlin!” said Arthur, scandalised.

"You're blushing, Arthur!"

"Am not!"

The jam session started at 8pm, and it was a very different experience jamming with a group of musicians rather than just the two of them. There was a drum kit, a couple of guitars, a sprinkling of saxes and trombones, even a fiddle or two. When the jam got into full swing, the big surprise of the night was Kahill, who turned out to sing the blues like a pro. 

“Wow!” whispered Arthur to Merlin. “Kahill is channelling BB King!” 

“Yeah,” whispered Merlin in reply. “He’s pretty awesome isn’t he.” 

For a while the two men were content to sit and listen, but then the musicians started on a rendition of “Basin Street Blues.” Exchanging a heady grin as they stood, the two of them lifted their instruments to their lips and started to play along, and for a while they were lost in music and the camaraderie of the pub. 

They spilled out of the pub at closing time. Arthur felt hot and exhilarated; Merlin’s cheeks were flushed pink and he was laughing excitedly at some inner joke. As before, Arthur insisted on escorting Merlin home. When they reached the door of Merlin’s apartment, it felt the most natural thing in the world to reach across the space between them with his hand, feeling Merlin’s stubbly jaw scratching against his fingers, draw Merlin’s mouth to his, and fit their lips together, still full and blush-pink from two hours of music. 

Merlin groaned into Arthur’s mouth, tendrils of his breath snaking around Arthur’s face in the cold night air, his stubble chafing insistently at Arthur’s chin, a deep sound that cascaded through Arthur’s rib cage and pooled in his groin. 

“Arthur,” he moaned breathlessly. Arthur pressed Merlin up against the door, thrusting a firm thigh between Merlin’s, seeking the friction. “Arthur, come in. Please. For a. Erm. Coffee or something?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” panted Arthur. 

Quietly sneaking through the doorway so as not to alert Will, whose music they could hear emanating through the door of his bedroom, they crept into Merlin’s kitchen, and set their horn cases down together, purple and black. 

“Look,” whispered Merlin. “Excalibur and Gloria are having a cuddle,” and he giggled. 

“You sap,” said Arthur, snorting and pulling Merlin into another embrace while the kettle boiled.


	15. Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try out some of their "Monty" moves in the privacy of Merlin's bedroom, but get a bit distracted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is obsessed with Arthur's arse. Arthur is obsessed with Merlin's fingers. The arse and the fingers have a first date. (If you don't count the aborted massage). Oh yeah. (Cue Barry White and lots of heavy breathing).

Merlin busied himself in the kitchen making two cups of tea. Arthur had seemed uncertain about the date at first, but once he’d decided to go along with it, it had been wonderful to see Arthur totally relaxed, unselfconscious, enthralled by the music, and to hear him use his undisputed musical skill in such an unfamiliar way. The best thing about the evening, apart from the smouldering kiss that Arthur had delivered on Merlin’s doorstep, had been the expression on Arthur’s face when he had finished improvising for the first time. The combination of surprise, pride and uncomplicated joy was something he wanted to pack up in a box and keep for a rainy day. 

But Merlin’s evening had been partly overshadowed by his own sense of impending doom about the upcoming strip show, which he wanted to talk over with Arthur. Now is as good a time as any, he thought. So he steeled himself and opened the conversation with a terse sentence. 

“I’ve decided to do it, and that’s that,” said Merlin firmly. 

Arthur frowned. 

“Do what?” he replied. 

“The Full Monty.”

Arthur shot him a concerned look across the table.  
  
"Are you sure?" he said. Merlin nodded.  
  
"I know I can do it," he said. "I did the Calendar Girls photo shoot on Sunday."  
  
Arthur gaped at him.  
  
"I always knew you were a girl, Merlin!"  
  
"I'm not! I swear! But the girls needed my help, so I did it. And it was fine. So I am sure I'll be fine doing the Monty too. But I need you to help me."  
  
They were sitting in Merlin’s kitchen, devouring Jammy Dodgers, and a large jar of peanut butter, which Merlin was scooping out of the jar with a spoon. Will’s tunes banged through the wall. 

“Me? Why me?”

“Because, Arthur, you are the most self-assured person I have ever met. And I want you to give me some tips.”

“Merlin, I have to point out that at the first rehearsal you and all the rest of the men all managed to master the choreography for ‘You can keep your hat on’ within about an hour, whereas I, according to Gwaine, have hips so wooden that they would not look out of place on a tree.” 

“I think we can help each other Arthur,” Merlin said. “I think I can do all the moves, but I’ll really struggle with taking my kit off. Whereas yours seemed to come off alarmingly quickly.”

“Did not!” protested Arthur. 

“Arthur, you had your bits flapping out before we could say ‘Jack Robinson’”. And a lovely sight they were too, thought Merlin. 

“You couldn’t keep your eyes off them, as I recall,” Arthur drawled, amused. Merlin flushed. 

“Well, they were not exactly impressive…”

“It was cold!” said Arthur, defensively. 

But Merlin’s memory of Arthur’s lightning fast strip would last him a month of wanks. He didn’t say anything but Arthur smirked at him knowingly. 

“OK,” said Arthur. “I think you’re right. And I’m glad you’re moving on. So let’s help each other out.” He put his empty tea cup in the sink and pulled Merlin to his feet. “Come on, Michael Jackson. Let’s throw some shapes. Lead me to the sound machine.”

“Not here,” said Merlin. “I’m absolutely not doing this where there's a chance my flat mate could walk in. Come to my bedroom.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“Oi!”

But when they got into Merlin’s bedroom, Merlin closed the door with his foot and inserted a CD in the machine, they looked at each other in a moment of silent contemplation and Merlin very nearly backed out again. 

“Hey,” said Arthur gently. “If you’re not ready for this we can try again another day?” 

Merlin shook his head. “It’s OK Arthur. I trust you.” 

“Thanks,” he said quietly, and turned the music on. Tom Jones’ Welsh tones blasted into the room. On the other side of the wall, Will turned his music up. 

Merlin couldn’t help laughing at Arthur’s inability to swivel his hips. It was oddly endearing that he was so competent at everything else he tried, so earnest and competitive, but that he just could not understand how to gyrate. After half an hour of unsuccessful practice the two men were both panting from their exertions and giggling. 

“Look Arthur,” said Merlin one more time. “It’s very straightforward, you just need to bend here, and flex your knees. Here, put your hands on my hips while I do it. Can you feel it?”

“Oh I can feel it all right,” said Arthur, holding on tight and pressing his own hips to Merlin’s taut rear. “Can you?”

Arthur’s hot breath was on the back of Merlin’s neck; he felt Arthur’s lips ghosting through the wispy curls there and towards his earlobes, making him shiver. 

“Merlin,” he whispered. “God, you don’t know what you do to me. Merlin.” 

Merlin turned round to face him, eyes uncertain. 

Arthur cupped Merlin’s jaw in one hand and swallowed. “Sorry,” he said, looking down and shaking his head, stepping away, letting his hand drop. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. I just thought maybe…” 

Merlin stepped back towards Arthur, threaded his hand in Arthur’s golden hair, and gently pressed his lips to Arthur’s open mouth. Arthur moaned, making Merlin’s heart thud, and turned his head into the kiss, which they held for a long moment, soft tongues melting into one another. Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed as he was drawn into Arthur’s warmth; he tasted of beer, tea and raspberry jam. Merlin pressed his leg between Arthur’s, sighing at the feel of Arthur’s tautening erection against his hip, and reached behind Arthur with both hands to grip those firm buttocks, gasping as he squeezed them with long, strong fingers. 

“Arthur,” he moaned between filthy wet kisses. “Your arse, oh God. Your gorgeous, gorgeous arse.” He flexed his hips, pressed against Arthur, folded his lean arms around him, enveloping him in heat and desire. Arthur’s irises were a thin sapphire annulus round huge gleaming black pupils, his lashes pale, fluttering. 

“Merlin,” he whispered. “Driving me mad, you talentless, scruffy Irish ragamuffin. Those lips.” He teased at them with his teeth as he named them. “Those ears!” Arthur’s pink tongue flicked out and drew hot and cold patterns inside the shell of his ear.

“Aaah Aaah Nnnngh!” said Merlin coherently. “Tickles!”

“Those fingers… God!” Arthur continued and gently removed one of Merlin’s hands from its death grip on his bum. With his eyes locked on Merlin’s, he moved Merlin’s hand round and placed it on his own crotch. “Feel what you do to me Merlin, such a tease.” Arthur’s cock felt huge and hot through his trousers. Merlin rubbed it gently, moaning, panting, jeans straining to contain his own bulging prick, and leaned forward to follow Arthur when he quietly disengaged from the embrace. Merlin felt suddenly bereft, cold when Arthur pushed him away, held both his hands, breathing deeply through his nose, looking down, looking up.

“Is this OK?” Arthur said earnestly through panting breaths. “Are you OK?” 

Merlin nodded and smiled. Arthur smiled shyly back. His smile was the most beautiful thing Merlin had ever seen. He ducked forward to steal another kiss, but Arthur stopped him with a finger. 

“Wait. Wait! Let me speak, you impatient, stupid, gorgeous, black-haired, lanky idiot! Listen.” He had Merlin’s attention now. 

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t tell me to,” said Arthur. “And I’m not going to do anything fast. But I have to tell you now, Merlin Emrys, that I want it all, everything you are prepared to give me, I want it. I… want…” And Merlin was humbled by the way that Arthur’s voice trembled. “I want you. Vegetable brains, noodle arms, spindly legs, snarky lips, the works. So please, either stop now, or never, never stop.”

“Not going to stop,” breathed Merlin, although his heart nearly did, just then when Arthur was so unguarded and exposed, so trusting. Merlin disengaged his hands and pushed Arthur gently onto the bed, straddling him, grinding into him, dipping low to another deep kiss, long legs lined up alongside Arthur’s steely thighs. Arthur’s body, so hot and firm against his, fitted him perfectly, here and here. Arthur’s broad chest inflated and deflated beneath him; he could feel Arthur’s heart thumping against him. In that moment he felt finely balanced, poised on the brink of something—to fall or to fly? Arthur pulled him gently down, caressing him with lips and tongue, firm hands gently on his shoulders. Merlin’s nose ghosted down Arthur’s still-clad torso and his face came to rest in Arthur’s crotch, inhaling Arthur’s scent deeply, groaning. 

He could drown in that musky perfume. If he allowed himself to fall, he would fall steeply and far, never to return. He gulped, still on the brink, caught between the necessity of flight and the urgency of need. Sensing his uncertainty, Arthur lessened his hold. They lay together shaking with want, breaths shallow and fast. Slowly, gently, Merlin drew Arthur’s fingers to him, pressed them to his mouth and sucked them in, swirling round them with his tongue, watching Arthur. Arthur stilled and inhaled sharply, focussing on Merlin’s mouth. 

“Is this what you want Arthur,” asked Merlin, gently. Arthur nodded, swallowed, eyes glinting as he watched. His breath hitched as Merlin removed Arthur’s belt, shucked his trousers and pants down round his ankles, Arthur’s prominent cock bobbing up, a moist bead at its tip. Merlin took his own trousers and pants down, palming his own dark-red erect cock, and then turned back to Arthur, burying his nose in his crotch again, planting filthy kisses around the root of Arthur’s prick, losing himself in the sensation of wiry pubic hair on his lips. 

“Oh my god,” said Merlin reverently. “Your prick, Arthur. Your gorgeous fucking prick.” It was gorgeous; fat, pink, and perky. 

Merlin encased it in his lips, sucking a diamond of salty pre-come from the tip where it emerged from the foreskin, swirling it with his tongue, eliciting a soft gasp from Arthur. 

“Turn round,” said Merlin huskily. “On your hands and knees.” Arthur turned, obediently. 

“Look at you! Fuck, Arthur, look at your perfect fucking arse,” and Merlin caressed Arthur’s taut buttocks. They were lightly freckled, golden globes, with a faint scattering of delicate blonde hairs. He could watch them for hours. He snaked teasing thumbs into the crack between them. “One day I’m going to fuck you so hard, Arthur, going to ram my prick into your arse until I make you see stars.” He ran his fingertips appreciatively down Arthur’s thighs, so hard, so muscular. 

“Merlin,” Arthur croaked, and Merlin felt a deep tug in his groin at the sounds Arthur was making. He wanted to draw more of those sounds out, wanted to record them in his head, they were like music. “Merlin you filthy Irish pervert. God, your filthy mouth.”

Merlin knelt up on the bed behind Arthur, pressed his lips to Arthur’s back, ghosted down his spine, his tongue leaving a hot-cold wet trail, until he shivered as Merlin nipped him gently and then a little harder with his teeth so that Arthur hissed. Merlin flipped him onto his back, felt Arthur tremble in his intent gaze as Merlin settled between his legs, aligned their cocks and rutted into him. Arthur was wet from Merlin’s mouth, but still too dry, and too hot, and perfect. Their mouths closed in a wet kiss. Merlin could see that Arthur’s chin was pink, chafed from his stubble, and he panted into Arthur’s neck, planting and sucking a mark on Arthur’s collarbone. _Mine_. 

“Not going to last,” said Merlin hoarsely. “Gonna come all over you Arthur. Gonna coat you with my come.” 

“God Merlin! Yes! Please Merlin.” 

Merlin’s rhythm stuttered, and he felt the orgasm building, tension growing deliciously in his groin, his balls, and his thighs. He couldn’t speak any more, could only grunt as finally he came apart, panting, streaking onto Arthur’s abdomen and chest. Then he reached to encircle Arthur’s still-pert knob in his fingers, twisting and tugging it until Arthur followed him over with a shout.

Sated, damp, sticky they lay together, drowsing and wondering. 

Arthur chuckled. 

“What,” said Merlin.

“Nothing really,” Said Arthur. “It’s just… your mouth Merlin! Your filthy mouth!”

Merlin snorted sheepishly. 

“Merlin, when I think of other dates I’ve had… Playing music with you was just… sex with you is just… being with you is just… perfect. I am not good with words Merlin, but I think this is the best date I’ve ever had.”

Merlin punched his arm. 

“Sap,” he said, but he couldn’t suppress the elation he felt. Arthur chuckled again, but then fell serious. 

“Merlin, I want you to know that always I’ll wait for you. As long as you need. I’ll only do what you tell me to do. And I want to see you again. Do this again. Don’t want to stop,” he said. 

“Thank you Arthur,” said Merlin, quietly. “Won’t stop. Thank you for everything.”

 


	16. Honey, Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless PWP. Private "strip practice" in Arthur's flat. One thing leads to another. Dear oh dear. Oh, and fluff. And snuggles. Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry. I'll carry on with the plot soon. Help! Porn bunnies keep eating my brain!

Gradually, Merlin found that the dates with Arthur were blending together as they spent more and more time with each other. Gradually, his panic and urge to flee subsided. Gradually, their musical styles began to converge and build into something new and great, as they practiced together, and played blues together.

They sat, resignedly, through Kahill’s inevitable lectures and the rest of the band’s relentless teasing at rehearsals.

“Well done, Arthur, love,” one such lecture began on a rainy Monday at band practice. “You’re beginning to draw some music out of the notes. But I think that section could, if anything, handle a bit more rubato.”

A bit later on Kahill turned to Merlin. “Well done, Merlin, love,” he said. “Your stamina is really improving.”

“That’s not what Arthur told me,” called out Leon from behind his enormous instrument. A flurry of snorts rattled round the band room. Merlin coughed; Gwen frowned and opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Great to see you are paying attention to the basics,” continued Kahill, ignoring them. “You could do some upper register work though—you need to make sure you get the same depth of tone above the stave as you do beneath it.”

As the date of the Full Monty approached, they were also rehearsing stripping more often—both with the other boys, and, perhaps less effectively, but more gratifyingly, in the privacy of Arthur’s flat.

On one such evening Merlin turned up at Arthur’s with a care package that contained—in addition to the mandatory packets of Jammy Dodgers—a bottle of wine, some vegetable samosas, some Nerf gun darts—Arthur and Merlin liked to fire Nerf guns at certain politicians on TV during Newsnight—and a large pot of Nutella. They’d had the best intentions of finishing their Full Monty practice, but somehow before they’d both got completely naked they’d started to strip each other, and the stimulation of Arthur’s hands on Merlin’s exercise-hot sweaty skin was enough to make him hard and panting, and he had to pull himself and Arthur off, hands wrapped round them both, before they could even think about concentrating on their moves. And then of course they were filthy and sticky, so they had to step into the shower, and what with one thing and another he ended up on his knees in the shower with his lips round Arthur’s gorgeous engorged knob.

“Fuck,” he said, mouth full, so it sounded like “mfk.” He withdrew his mouth for a second, nosing Arthur’s wet bollocks. “Your prick, Arthur, tastes like...” and he looked up, blinded by water in his eyes, a sudden idea occurring to him.

“Bed!” he hissed, suddenly, cutting short the moment momentarily to pull Arthur, still wet and hard, out of the shower, and thrust him face down and protesting onto the bed.

“Merlin!” said Arthur. “Hey, wait, you haven’t finished. Come back here! You really are the most useless…mfff” and he couldn’t continue because Merlin had returned from the kitchen and leapt on top of him with a happy squawk.

“Stay there Arthur,” he said, breathless with excitement. Arthur was pink, flushed and dishevelled, wet hair pooling water all over his pillow. “Stay there and let me see your saucy arse. Now, on your hands and knees. ”

Arthur complied, still uttering muffled complaints. Merlin couldn’t resist tapping first one pert, pink mound and then the other with a playful slap. Arthur squeaked.

“Stop complaining! Such a gorgeous fucking arse, fuck Arthur, if you could just see it,” Merlin said appreciatively. He slathered a thick, dark brown smear of Nutella all over Arthur’s bare, pink arse cheeks with his fingers.

“Arthur!” he admonished. “Your filthy arse needs washing, so fucking dirty, Arthur. You have brown stains on those golden hairs. Good job you have me here to take care of you. Here,” and he reached round to push his Nutella-stained fingers into Arthur’s mouth. “Suck it off,” he commanded.

Arthur stilled, as he finally got the message, and stopped grumbling, instead starting to moan helplessly, salivating round Merlin’s fingers, reaching to touch his rampant cock.

“God, Merlin,” he breathed, totally vulnerable. “I love you and your deviant Irish brain.”

Merlin, startled, stored that statement up to bring out and treasure later, and batted Arthur’s hand away.

“I’ll tell you when you can touch yourself, you’re too dirty now,” he chided.

If there was one thing that Merlin loved nearly as much as Arthur’s perky bottom it was Nutella. The gooey, chocolatey mess softened tantalisingly onto Arthur’s golden hairs and the act of licking it off, combined with the deep, needy groans that this elicited from Arthur’s throat, was very nearly, but not quite enough to push Merlin over the edge.

He pressed a generous glob of Nutella deep into Arthur’s crack, pulling his hips backwards so that he could see the brown smear next to Arthur’s puckered pink hole. He was breathing deeply as he pressed his face into that musky crevice, his breath, lips, tongue and teeth delighting in the mingled scent and taste of chocolate and Arthur.

“Fuck, Arthur,” he breathed, his tongue snaking out and burying itself as deep as he could go into that tight furl, pressing one finger alongside it, listening to the wanton gasps that drew from Arthur’s mouth. “I have a sweet tooth, and you taste like heaven.”

Arthur bit off a choked cry, pushing his hips back towards Merlin in open invitation.

And later, after Merlin had worked Arthur open with his fingers and tongue, sheathed himself in a condom, slid inside and fucked Arthur hard into the bed, after he’d come apart in Arthur’s tight clench and heat, after he’d cleaned them both up and they’d dozed in a pink tangle of sweaty limbs, after they’d munched companionably on Jammy Dodgers in Arthur’s messed up bed, Merlin peeped up at Arthur from his biscuit-crumb infested pillow on Arthur’s chest and whispered.

“Me too, Arthur, so very, very much.”

Arthur looked confused at first, and then smiled uncertainly, remembering, and Merlin’s heart swelled at the sight.

"You love your deviant Irish brain?" Arthur teased, voice rumbling in his chest and tickling Merlin's ear. Merlin punched his arm.

"No you prat, stop being deliberately obtuse. You. I. Love. You. I love you, you infuriatingly gorgeous clotpole." Arthur tightened his grip.

"Such a girl," he said in a fond voice. "I love you, you idiot, and never forget it." And he kissed the top of Merlin's head. Merlin felt like purring as he burrowed contently into Arthur's wiry chest hair.


	17. Dancing Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of the strip show. Merlin is a bag of nerves. Arthur's distraction techniques work like a charm to start with, but there is no escaping Merlin's jitters once they arrive at the theatre. So, in time-honoured Yorkshire brass band tradition, the boys turn to alcohol to get them through the evening. 
> 
> 'Merlin ducked behind Arthur and grabbed his arm, gripping it hard. “Kill me now!” he whispered earnestly. “Hide the body in the river. No-one will know. It’ll be better that way.” His eyes were wild and staring. Arthur decided it was time to break out the vodka, which he and Merlin glugged gratefully straight out of the bottle, cranberry be damned. Merlin coughed at the burn but a bit of colour returned to his cheeks.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by reports that Robert Carlyle downed half a bottle of whiskey before filming "that scene" in front of a live audience in the movie.

Chapter 17: Dancing Queen

 

Despite Arthur’s best efforts to distract Merlin, by the time the evening of the strip show came, Merlin was a bag of nerves.

In the last few weeks, Arthur had become an expert at distracting Merlin. He took delight in distracting him at band practice, or in the pub, by turning round and bending over to pick something up off the floor, which for some reason that Arthur didn’t really want to think too deeply about, usually was enough to stop Merlin mid-sentence.

In the privacy of Arthur or Merlin’s flat, he could be less subtle.

Two hours before they were due to strip on stage, Merlin had packed and repacked his kit bag five times, checking all the Velcro-fastened clothes over and over again, and Arthur knew he would need to employ some of his sneakiest distraction tactics to prevent Merlin from having metaphorical kittens. Kittens were all very well, when it came to cuteness and so forth they could not be bettered, but they would make a terrible mess of his flat. Merlin had to be stopped. 

Arthur suggested that Merlin go and make them both a cup of tea. During the time it took for the kettle to boil Arthur industriously put himself to work so that when Merlin reappeared, a steaming mug of tea in each hand, it was to find Arthur, prone and naked on the sofa, slick hands sliding up and down his own half-hard cock. Merlin’s face, when he took in this image of Arthur having a crafty wank, was a joy to behold.

Arthur redoubled his efforts, stripping his cock with one hand, closing his eyes, tipping his head back and groaning theatrically. His thighs worked rhythmically in time with his hands, tautening and relaxing.

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. He leaned in the doorway, eyes drinking in the vision before him, mesmerised.

“Is this a private moment?” he asked. “Do you want me to… you know…” and he waved a mug of tea towards the kitchen, “or can I …. Erm…” he coughed and whispered “watch…”

Arthur didn’t answer, but instead lifted one knee and reached behind himself with his free hand to insert one moistened finger into his hot, dusky-pink hole

“Fuck, Arthur,” Merlin croaked, Irish brogue breaking up, deep with longing, and Arthur could get off just from hearing filth delivered by that incredible voice, “bloody hellfire, there are no words to describe how you look, you… fuck, if you could see yourself, you’re so beautiful, I could eat you, Jayzus,” his voice cracked and he licked his lips.

“Don’t just stand there, Merlin,” Arthur moaned, breathlessly, his cock now fully erect, its moist, bejewelled tip dribbling onto his taut abdomen. “Come over here, and bring your fingers, and your filthy mouth.”

Merlin quietly put the tea back in the kitchen, thoughtfully stepping into the bedroom to pick up a condom packet, and strode purposefully back to the sofa, where he knelt, his bulging erection already evident through his tight jeans. Arthur closed his eyes and felt an inquisitive nose press itself into his groin, moist lips closing around his aching penis, and let out an ecstatic breath.

“Your lips, Merlin, aaaah, oh my god, your tongue, oh, oh, oh, suck me, so good, so good,” he panted. Merlin’s hot mouth sheathed him, slid along him. Merlin had one hand at the base of Arthur’s cock, and Arthur could see through slitted eyes that the other hand was palming his own through his trousers. Merlin’s mouth popped wetly off the end of Arthur’s penis and he looked up, flushed and dishevelled, at Arthur’s face. Arthur sighed regretfully, pushed his lube-slick hands roughly into Merlin’s unruly hair, trying to push his head back down.

“Don’t try to talk, not now Merlin, don’t stop, please, feels so good, please Merlin,” he gabbled.

Merlin chuckled, breath tickling moist blond pubic hairs.

“So bossy,” he chided. “So needy! Stop wriggling and squirming now Arthur, stay still, no more touching now. Let me do all the work.”

“Merlin! Just keep going, don’t stop!” begged Arthur, forcing himself to relax, to stop his hips from straining up. “Don’t know what you do to me, yes that’s it, your mouth, your fingers, aaaah…”

“Shhh, Arthur, no more talking now.”

But at this point Arthur could no longer speak, and was reduced to making desperate sounds, because Merlin’s hand had relinquished its hold on his prick, and was now pushing his knees apart, stroking his inner thigh, and working its way inexorably towards the places where all Arthur’s most sensitive parts met. Merlin’s head ducked out of his grasp. Arthur could feel the hot wetness of Merlin’s tongue pass across the skin of his inner thigh, his balls, towards his slick hole, and the cool air that followed in behind.

Merlin’s hand snaked towards Arthur’s puckered hole, where one wet finger joined his tongue, working its way in up to the knuckle, followed shortly by another, and another, until Arthur was wide, wet, filthy and frantic.

“Look at you!” whispered Merlin. “So dirty, so hot. Goin’ to fuck you. Goin’ to take you apart, split you in two, til you scream my name, Arthur.” Arthur whimpered, lifting his knees to give Merlin better access, but Merlin pulled away, and Arthur heard a ripping sound as Merlin tore into the condom packet, pulled on a condom, and slathered himself liberally with lube.

“Oh my god,” Merlin breathed. “So beautiful. So ready for me.” He knelt reverently between Arthur’s thighs, hooking them over his shoulders, aligning his hips with Arthur’s.

Arthur’s breath hitched as he took in the beauty of Merlin’s face, grave with concentration, flushed and wrecked, hair awry, cheekbones sharp, beads of sweat on his forehead, one tooth biting a kissable swollen lower lip. And oh, oh, oh, the painful perfection of Merlin’s magnificent penis, sheathed in a black condom, nudging playfully at Arthur, probing him, gently sliding in just a little, then just a little more, and gradually slipping deeper inside, always a little bit painful, always exquisitely painful, nearly too much but never quite enough, until he filled Arthur so completely that he could explode.

Merlin edged his hips back and forth, slowly flexing, brow furrowed, til he hit the place that made Arthur gasp with the sheer overwhelming ecstasy of it. Arthur dropped his legs from Merlin’s shoulders, wrapped them around Merlin, pulling him in tighter, pulling his head down for a rough kiss. Again and again and again Merlin fucked in and withdrew, gradually increasing his pace, so that Arthur jammed his own fist into his mouth to gag himself, ashamed of the desperate noises he was making, needing to find his release, but refusing to touch himself again until Merlin said he could.

Merlin’s hips stuttered as he approached his climax.

“Come now for me, Arthur,” he gasped, encasing Arthur’s prick in his tight fist “come for me, you gorgeous, gorgeous man,” tugging him once, twice, three times “let me feel you come around me, so hot, so fucking hot...” Arthur felt all his nerves tauten to an exquisite peak as Merlin thrust into him. His senses failed him for an infinite moment, and thick white stripes spurted through Merlin’s fist, between their bodies. He heard someone shouting Merlin’s name through the fog, and realised that it was his own voice, broken and distant.

Merlin came with a hoarse cry, and fell onto him, still encased by Arthur’s legs and arms, covering Arthur’s body with his heat and sweat.

Arthur pushed trembly fingers into Merlin’s unruly black curls, caressing him where he lay on Arthur’s chest, unmoving, dazed and blissed out. He pressed a kiss to Merlin’s messy black thatch. He couldn’t imagine ever being like this, so open and trusting, with anyone else, submitting so totally, nor ever wanting to. He didn’t dare to consider that this thing between them, whatever it was, might ever come to an end.

“Merlin,” he whispered, wondering how to articulate his feelings.

With what appeared to be a monumental struggle, Merlin lifted his head and gazed at him—eyes sleepy, but questioning—and smiled, lifting a wobbly finger to Arthur’s lips.

“Shhhh.”

Arthur shhhhed.

The distraction was highly successful. By the time they had emerged from their drowsy embrace and cleaned up, it was time to go.

Merlin strode on ahead like a man possessed; Arthur struggled to keep up.

“You won’t make it finish any quicker by running, you know” he panted. “You’ll only end up arriving really early at the concert hall and sitting fidgeting while you wait for it to fill up.

“That’s better than arriving when it’s already full,” muttered Merlin.

“Just imagine the audience naked,” said Arthur.

“Not helping!” Merlin put his fingers in his ears. “Not listening! Lalalalala!”

Arthur had a secret weapon in his bag. Along with the carefully altered costumes—which Gwen and Mithian had prepared to Gwaine’s exacting design with the aid of some Velcro and Gwen’s old Singer sewing machine—nestled a litre bottle of Smirnoff, and two litres of cranberry juice. He reckoned that the only way of getting Merlin on stage was to make sure he was pretty well loosened up before they started. A burning knot of tension settled in his stomach. Whose idea had this been in the first place? Oh yeah, his. Big-mouth Pendragon strikes again. But that was before he’d known he would have to settle a jittery boyfriend suffering from post-traumatic stress, as well as his own not insubstantial stage fright. He sighed. It was down to the vodka to get them through it now.

As they approached the theatre, Arthur’s phone jiggled in his pocket. He dug it out. A text from Mordred:

Can u give me a lift 2nite? thx

Arthur rolled his eyes and replied:

No, Mordred, you’re too young for this show. Plus there is a strict “females only” rule.

He switched his phone off and mentally girded his loins.

Gwaine was waiting outside the stage door, looking excited and slightly manic; it was a terrifying sight. Percival, Elyan and Leon skulked nearby, taking it in turns to suck surreptitious sips out of a hip flask. Various other unwilling male band members lurked nearby; Arthur had surmised that safety in numbers was a good thing, and roped in Edwin, Bors, and Olaf to bolster the effort. Gaius had refused, but most people had agreed this was probably just as well. He was behind the scenes working the sound system.

Gwen bounded up to Merlin and Arthur, beaming, followed by a pensive-looking Lance.

“Hello boys! All set? Sophia and I will be doing your make-up, Elena is sorting out the music for the big band. Freya is doing the lighting.”

“Freya’s here?” said Merlin, surprised. One of these days Arthur would find out how Merlin knew Freya. Merlin seemed to be very protective of her. She never spoke to anyone, except Elena and Merlin, as far as Arthur could tell. He didn’t even know what her voice sounded like. She was a decent B flat bass player though.

“Yes,” said Gwen. “We need her on bass guitar.”

The Big Band had been Gwen’s idea. Sophia was a decent singer and guitar player, and Elena played drums. Mithian and Gwen would be providing the brass section. They strippers had rehearsed without a bass guitar when they came together with the big band for a practice the previous night; the band had been really good, but Arthur could see that the bass guitar would add something.

Percival and Leon had been drafted to man the door, making sure that none of the audience were smuggling mobile phones or cameras into the room. There was no way that this show was going on YouTube, it was strictly one night only.

Also, no men were allowed to enter the auditorium. The strippers wanted to make sure that they followed the philosophy of the original Full Monty, Arthur had said in face-saving justification. In fact, it was not only Merlin who would rather not get his knackers out in front of a load of jeering blokes; the rest of the strippers were pretty clear on that point as well.

Nevertheless, Merlin nearly fainted when he saw the queue of middle-aged women lining up outside the door; Alice, who played timpani, had sent word round the local Womens Institute and the blue-rinse brigade were out in force. One of them, he saw inconsequentially, had a pair of whippets on a leash.

“Arthur,” he whispered in horror. “They’re going to eat us alive,” he uttered in a strangled voice, and he didn’t mean the whippets, which were at least muzzled. One of the women spotted them. She smiled and waved, nudging the woman next to her. Merlin staggered backwards. The queue of twittering females was now stretching round the corner of the block and causing a hazard to passing traffic. Merlin ducked behind Arthur and grabbed his arm, gripping it hard.

“Kill me now!” he whispered earnestly. “Hide the body in the river. No-one will know. It’ll be better that way.” His eyes were wild and staring. Arthur decided it was time to break out the vodka, which he and Merlin glugged gratefully straight out of the bottle, cranberry be damned. Merlin coughed at the burn but a bit of colour returned to his cheeks.

Yes, Merlin,” soothed Arthur, taking another swig. “There, there.” He passed the bottle.

~~~

By the time they were changed and waiting in the wings, Merlin was flying.

“Bin practish – hic - ing my pelvic wossnamesh - thrushtsh,” he slurred. “Look, Arthur!” and he attempted to demonstrate, overbalanced, tangled his feet up and fell over. He giggled.

Arthur pulled him to his feet with one of his cross faces. Merlin grabbed his arms.

“Whoopsh! You’re jusht a big old grumpy teddy bear,” Merlin said to both Arthurs. “Why won’t you give me any more lurrvverly lurrvverly voddy woddy teddy bear? Bearsh!”

But there was no arguing with Arthur, the miserable po-faced sod, who shook his head and said boring things like “you’ve had quite enough, you have the alcohol tolerance of a 7-year old, for heaven’s sake Merlin, let go of my arm, you’re pulling the sleeves off, which isn’t meant to happen til the after the interval.”

“Aaarthuuur,” whined Merlin. “I’ll make it up to yoush later,” and did his best flirtatious tongue gesture, but it didn’t seem to have the desired effect for once. “More voddy pretty please? I’m Irish, I can hold my liquor I’ll have you know, it’sh… you know… wossname… thing you shouldn’t break. Thassit. Law. It’sh the law in Ireland.”

“Merlin, you can’t even hold your accent right now. It’s as thick as glue.”

“I have a very shophishtic… shopfistich… schsophishticated acshent. Wassname. I’ll have you know. Yesh indeed. But shoot yourshelf,” Merlin pouted. “No blow-jobfsh for you tonight, Mr Frowny-Face. Downy face, clowny face, brownie-face, moany-face,” and he tried to flounce, but wasn’t really sure what that entailed.

At that moment Gwaine bounced into the wings.

“All right princess,” he grinned at Arthur. Then he gave Merlin a quizzical look. “I think your girlfriend may have peaked a bit early,” he said. Merlin bristled and held up a finger, wagging it admonishingly.

“I,” he said, lurching dramatically, “am NOT a girl. No sits. Stits. Stitsh. Tits. See?” and he pulled aside his Velcro-fastened shirt to demonstrate. Gwaine rolled his eyes, pulled Merlin’s shirt back into place, and gave him a little push.

“Time to get on stage, now. Try not to trip anyone over,” said Gwaine as he ushered them all to their places ready for curtain up. There was an excitable buzz of conversation coming from behind the curtain, accompanied by the cackles and raucous screeches of a well-oiled female-only northern night out.

The adrenaline hit Merlin’s stomach like a late-night kebab.

“Arthur, gonna be shick,” he whimpered.

“No you’re not, you idiot,” said both Arthurs, a fond look in all four of their eyes, as they propelled Merlin into his place and swivelled him round to face forward. “Don’t worry, I’ll stand right in front of you. The audience won’t see a thing.”

Merlin was quite happy to have all four Arthurs standing in front of him, he thought. Quite apart from anything, he was looking forward to the sight of eight golden-haired buttocks gleaming in the stage lights when Arthur got his kit off. He sniggered lasciviously under his breath, but Arthur must have heard because he turned round and frowned. So did all the others. “Must have sniggered quite loudly, oops!” he thought. He put a finger to his lips.

“Shhhhhhh!!” he said loudly, and giggled again.

The others turned back to the curtain, which was about to rise, and the performance began.

~~~

Well, that could have gone worse, thought Arthur during the interval. Merlin didn’t actually knock anyone else over when he tripped during “You can keep your hat on,” and he looked sufficiently cute when he got back to his feet that most of the ladies in the audience “aaaaah”ed him rather than throwing rotten fruit.

Arthur himself had rather enjoyed being the centre of attention. It was, after all, his rightful and accustomed place.

Gwen burst into the green room, looking flustered.

“Lance, Leon, Percival, Arthur, come quickly,” she beckoned. “Sophia found Mordred sneaking round the corridor, I don’t know how he got in, but he was filming everything on his mobile phone.”

Merlin went a peculiar shade of green and Leon cursed. Arthur decided to take charge.

“OK. Lance, Elyan, you take the stage area. Leon, Percival search backstage. Gwen, go and alert Gaius not to raise the curtain until Mordred’s found, and then you and Sophia check the audience. Gwaine and I’ll take the bar. Merlin, you stay here and try not to throw up”

“I’m not a girl,” Merlin hiccoughed.

“Don’t worry, Gwen, we’ll find him,” said Lance calmly. Gwen shot him an adoring look as he left the room.

Thankfully, it only took Percival and Leon five minutes to track down Mordred, who was hiding behind some left-over scenery from a recent production of Jack and the Beanstalk. Percival manhandled the struggling teenager into the green room and held his arms while Leon located the offending mobile phone. Everyone gathered round.

“The little horror has already uploaded this to YouTube,” Leon pronounced, “but don’t worry, he had a terrible angle and all you can see is Gwaine’s left buttock.”

“Hmm. That buttock is copyrighted,” said Gwaine, stepping into Mordred’s personal space. “Hope you can afford to pay my lawyer, Mordred.”

The boy scowled at him.

“You lot think you’re so clever,” he sneered. “You never let me do anything, you treat me like a kid. Well I’m sick of it. And you’re the absolute fucking worst,” he gestured with his head at Gwen, as his hands were still firmly held in one of Percival’s. “Juniors present, juniors present, juniors present,” he mimicked in a high pitched voice.

Lance’s eyes narrowed at this outburst.

“How dare you speak to Gwen like that, you vile little sneak,” he said, stepping towards Mordred with murder in his eyes. Arthur intervened before things got too out of hand.

“All right everyone, time to get ready for your curtain calls. Mordred, you can stay in the green room until the end of the performance. The rest of us have a job to do. Leon, lock him in here. Oh, and I’ll keep hold of that mobile phone.” Arthur paused and looked over towards Merlin who was snoring in a chair, bucket in his hands.

“Someone had better wake him up I suppose, or we won’t hear the last of it,” he sighed.

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	18. Lay All Your Love On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the performance and all the boys are on sizzling hot form. Gwaine, Merlin and Arthur liven up the proceedings with some lipstick. Afterwards, Merlin employs the lipstick to good effect in the privacy of Arthur's flat. 
> 
> Which is all well and good, but just what is Morgana up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin loved to dance, that was the thing that clinched it. He especially loved to dance dirty. He loved to wiggle his pert arse, and gyrate his slender hips, and thrust out his toned chest. So when Sophia started belting out “Get Into the Groove,” his nerves settled, he bit down on the panic, and he started to enjoy himself and sing along.

Merlin woke up, blinking, with a throbbing head. Something wet and vile-smelling was being smeared across his face; it felt and smelt like a damp beer towel. He batted it away, peered into Gwaine’s enquiring face and scowled. His head was throbbing. He could feel Arthur beside him, holding him up and shaking with mirth.

“Mfff. M’ head hurts,” he spluttered. Chuckling, Gwaine thrust a steaming cup of coffee into his hand.

“C’mon, Merlin, you big girl’s blouse,” he laughed, “time to sober up, top up your shiny, shiny skin with oil, and then get back on stage and wiggle those snakelike hips for the laaaaaay-deeeeez.”

Merlin complained weakly but complied, sucking down the coffee, and then lathering oil onto his body. The other lads were all oiling up, and Gwaine was topping up his *lipstick* for God’s sake. It was like being gladiators, preparing for battle, he thought inconsequentially, and he started to laugh. Camp, pissed gladiators with a leather fetish. Suddenly he found himself asking Gwaine if he could borrow his lippy, and then applying it to Arthur’s already-pink lips, so that they were scarlet and oh-so-kissable, and then Arthur was whispering lewd promises into his ear until he blushed, imagining those stained lips on his cock, the scarlet smear they would leave, and willing himself not to get hard thinking about it.

Because really he couldn’t resist Arthur. Not even when he had half a pint of vodka in his tummy and an audience full of vultures waiting for him in the bear pit. He could hear them screeching now as the slow hand-claps began. He could just make out the words “We want more, we want more,” being chanted in high pitched voices; and he guessed they weren’t referring to vodka or whippets either.

“C’mon, you idiotic lightweight,” said Arthur, hauling him protesting to his feet. “Let’s show them what we’ve got.” Merlin gulped.But really it wasn’t too bad. He still had a belly full of Dutch courage, and somehow the coffee had lessened the heavy feeling in his head. And Merlin loved to dance, that was the thing that clinched it. He especially loved to dance dirty. He loved to wiggle his pert arse, and gyrate his slender hips, and thrust out his toned chest. So when Sophia started belting out “Get Into the Groove,” his nerves settled, he bit down on the panic, and he started to enjoy himself and sing along.

And in this second half the lads really were sizzling. Merlin pouted and strutted for the audience, Gwaine leered and gurned. And Arthur, Oooh! Arthur was a revelation. He challenged the audience with suggestive poses, flaunted his full lips, lascivious tongue and pert, golden booty.

Towards the climax of the show, during a raunchy rendition of “You Shook Me Baby,” the boys were all down to their (Velcro) leather underpants and were dancing at the front of the stage in pairs, back to back, heads turned to the audience, miming into imaginary microphones, and grinding up and down. At a pre-defined point in the music, one of each pair turned, so that he was grinding his hips into the other’s arse. Percival was grinding into Leon; Elyan was grinding into Lance; Gwaine was grinding into Bors, and Olaf was grinding into Edwin. It was like an epic wet-dream gay night at the Avalon club, thought Merlin appreciatively.

Merlin, naturally, was paired up with Arthur who was no longer even pretending to mime to the music, but instead was uttering smut into Merlin’s ear, which thoroughly threatened Merlin’s equilibrium, as he was really far too interested in what Arthur was saying, and the public display was threatening to become X-rated, which would contravene the license they had for the evening’s “ladies entertainment”. 

“I’m gonna fuck you babe,” sang Arthur instead of “You know you shook me babe.” Merlin ground his hips down almost into Arthur’s lap. “Gonna fuck you all night looooooong. I’m gonna fuck you baby, Gonna sit on your hot prick and milk you til you howwwwwwwl.”

“FUCK! Arthur you tart!” shouted Merlin – and dammit if his cock wasn’t starting to harden in front of the braying mob. Gwaine, who, with Bors, was facing them, eyed his crotch suggestively and winked. Merlin groaned and closed his eyes, trying to think of something boring and failing.

Arthur stuck out his tongue and wiggled it in Merlin’s ear, not otherwise breaking with the choreography at all. Merlin couldn’t help turning and wiggling his tongue back. The audience erupted in screams. “Snog!” cried out someone in the front row. The cry was soon repeated all around until the whole audience was shouting “SNOG! SNOG! SNOG! SNOG!” as if they were cheering on a playground fight.The music was drowned out in the din.

Arthur grinned lewdly, and turned Merlin fully round, pulling him in, for a comedic stage snog. Arthur’s tongue snaked out into Merlin’s mouth. Pressing Merlin’s cheeks together, he kissed him full on the lips, pushing his hips into Merlin’s for good measure.

“You teasing bastard,” said Merlin through clenched teeth, without moving his lips. He reached round to grope Arthur’s arse and before Arthur could work out what he was up to, with a single move he ripped Arthur’s Velcro pants off and lifted them triumphantly into the air, breaking their embrace to turn to face the audience. Arthur, finding himself nude in front of around 3000 screaming females, grinned, and put his hands on his hips before taking an elaborate bow. Merlin was weak with laughter.

It brought the house down.

“Arthur,” shrieked Sophia into the microphone, and the audience took up the cry.

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur,” rang out the cry from the audience. Arthur’s face was wreathed with smiles.

“I’ll get you for this Emrys!” said Arthur. “You are going to get thoroughly spanked!”

“Promises, promises!”

But Gwaine was frowning. His careful choreography and planning, all ruined. Merlin felt a little bit guilty. Arthur ran off stage, chortling, accompanied by shrieks and wolf-whistles, his man-bits flapping as he ran, and the rest of them resumed their dance. They were not the least bit phased when Arthur ran back on again, stark naked, at the end to take his bow and suck up the crowd’s adulation.

As the boys all left the stage and hurriedly pulled on some clothes they were bubbling with elation.

“Did you see Pendragon,” gasped Elyan. “Merlin you pulled some bloody stunt on him, the look on his face!” Merlin grinned.

“Not very impressive though, Arthur, mate,” said Gwaine. He crooked his little finger, suggestively.

“It was cold and I had a large audience, gimme a break!” said Arthur.

“I reckon Merlin only just got you off stage in time,” said Gwaine. “He enjoyed taking your pants off so fucking much he nearly poked my eye out! And I don’t mean with his fucking finger, either.”

“Oi!” said Merlin, blushing.

Still laughing and joking, once dressed the boys all braced themselves to run the gauntlet of the stage exit, where hordes of swooning ladies stood hoping to have photos taken with them, and get autographs. Percival was much in demand, as was Lance. Gwaine stood surrounded by his own fan club. Even Merlin himself was surprised to find a quiet circle of hopeful female eyes around him. But Merlin couldn’t help noticing that their popularity was eclipsed the moment Arthur stepped outside the door, blond hair gleaming in the street lights. He watched fondly as hundreds of bright-eyed women converged on his lover. He was about to make some poetic comment about iron filings or moths, but was beaten to it by Gwaine, who said “Like flies to a steaming turd,” smirking. Merlin doubled over, snorting. A sudden thought came to Merlin and he looked slyly at Gwaine.

"Mate," said Merlin tentatively. "You know that lipstick you had earlier...? Will you be needing it any more tonight?" Gwaine gave him a look of mixed respect and curiosity.

"Fucking hell, Merlin," he said at last. "You dirty bastard, I like it." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the lipstick. "Here, keep it, I don't want it back after you've finished with it!"

"Thanks," said Merlin, smiling and looking at the lipstick. Its shade was called "Shameless Scarlet". That's about right, he chuckled, remembering Arthur running off stage, starkers, his tackle flapping about.

As they stood outside, Arthur, ebullient, signing hundreds of autographs, Merlin caught a glimpse of someone he thought he recognised. She was wearing a head scarf and dark glasses, which in the dark screamed “up to something,” he thought. He stepped towards her. Noticing him, she slipped backwards and was gone before he could get close enough to be sure but he thought he knew who she was.

Arthur’s sister. Morgana.

He couldn’t imagine that she was here to congratulate Arthur on his epic performance tonight. A cold feeling settled on his stomach and the euphoria began to seep away.

“Arthur,” he said, tugging his lover’s arm. “Arthur, I think we should go.” Arthur scowled, not wanting to leave his devoted audience, but seeing something in Merlin’s face he capitulated and came away. They slipped off together and stepped into a taxi, and went back to Arthur’s flat.

“What’s the matter,” said Arthur in the cab. Merlin shrugged.

“I thought I saw your sister,” said Merlin. Arthur went still and quiet for a moment.

“I see,” he said. And he was uncharacteristically thoughtful all the way back.

Once the door was closed behind them, Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arm and treated him to his best scowl.

“Now Arthur,” he hissed, trying to look menacing. “Time to make it up to me for your dreadful behaviour earlier.”

Arthur looked smug, the prat.

“Teasing me with your filthy tongue,” breathed Merlin, pressing Arthur up against the wall of the entrance hall with one arm. Arthur didn't resist, so Merlin pressed his advantage, pushing one leg between Arthur’s and stealing a bruising kiss. Arthur’s erection pressed into his hip; Merlin reached down with his other hand to rub Arthur through his trousers til he moaned.

“What did you say? On stage?” said Merlin, steely-voiced, his hand working gently into Arthur’s writhing crotch.

Arthur gulped. Merlin could feel him hotter, harder through his trousers.

“Gonna milk you,” he croaked. Merlin nodded.

“and the rest?”

“Gonna fuck you. Gonna sit on your hot prick and milk you til you howl.”

“Yes yes, oh my god yes, Arthur, your filthy fucking mouth, you said, on stage, with your rosy red fucking lips, in front of thousands of screaming girls, that you were going to *fuck* me! You’ve never used that word before, never, what were you trying to do, get me to come in my leather pants? You damn near succeeded, you tease!” 

The two men were panting and straining at their trousers, pulling hard at each others clothes, fighting each other with lips, teeth and tongue.

Merlin wasn’t sure he’d last long enough to get fucked how he wanted, and he groaned again.

“Fuck it, Arthur, just get me off and then fuck me.”

“Pushy. Articulate, Merlin. Classy.”

“Suck me Arthur, please,” begged Merlin. “Suck me with those mucky lips and then I want to feel your fat prick inside me. I want you balls deep in my arse and I want to come again with you there.” Merlin had never yet felt the glory of Arthur's delicious pink cock fucking him open, but he felt ready now, so ready.

“Fuck! Yeah!” Arthur's eyes were round.

“God, Arthur, that’s five times you’ve said fuck tonight, and you still haven’t fucking done it yet!”

Arthur broke off the kiss, pulled roughly at Merlin’s sweatpants, freeing him from his underpants, and crouched down to suck Merlin’s cock unceremoniously into his hot, wet mouth.

“Nggggh!” said Merlin. Finally! Merlin was so on edge, so close.

"Wait," he managed to say, pulling Arthur to his feet. Arthur whined a protest. Merlin shhed him, then rummaged in his shirt pocket, extracting Gwaine's lipstick. "C'mere."

Merlin applied the lipstick liberally to Arthur's open lips. And bloody hell fire, Arthur, flushed and aroused, hair awry, looked so wanton with bright scarlet lipstick smeared inexpertly around his mouth, a stark contrast to his golden skin, so fuckable. Merlin pushed Arthur back down to his knees. Arthur's tongue snaked out, licking the diamond drop from the tip of Merlin's cock. Then Merlin groaned when Arthur took him fully into his ruby red mouth. He whined and entwined his fingers into Arthur’s hair, head angled to watch the place where he entered Arthur, where he ended and Arthur began. The sight of Arthur’s raspberry lips, gleaming red on his cock as he’d imagined, was nearly enough. Arthur looked up at him, cheeks hollowing with the suction, and then closed his eyes, humming. The sensation was too much, Merlin bucked his hips.

“Arthur,” he gasped. “If you could see yourself, holy shit, your mouth, that's... oh fuck, I'm gonna come, Arthur.” Arthur’s eyelashes fluttered and he slid his mouth off Merlin’s cock. Arthur sucked one hand into his own mouth, sitting back on his knees, sliding his other fist slowly up and down Merlin’s wet length, and then pushed his wet hand between Merlin’s thighs.

“Is this OK?” Arthur whispered, looking up at him through blond lashes. Merlin nodded, unable to speak. Arthur gently worked one wet finger into Merlin's clench. Merlin moaned.

“God, yes, Merlin,” Arthur whimpered. “Just come for me, come for me now, on my face.” And he quickened his rhythm, hard and fast on Merlin’s cock, crooking his finger in Merlin’s arse, seeking Merlin’s prostate.

Merlin’s breath sobbed out of him as he came, threads of white splashing into and round Arthur’s lipstick-stained lips, his jaw, his chin. Arthur’s finger slipped out of him as he sank to the floor, wobbly-legged, and he kissed and licked his spunk off Arthur’s wet face.

“Fuck, Arthur,” he panted. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t… you were just too… it felt so…. oh my god, would you like me to…?”

“Too late!” and Arthur gestured into his lap, starting to laugh. “I’m bloody glad I didn’t do that on stage!” Merlin took a look at the growing wet patch in Arthur’s groin and barked a laugh in return. “We didn’t even get into the bedroom,” said Arthur. They lay on the hall floor, laughing, blissed out, until they finally found enough energy to crawl through to the bedroom and fuck each other lazily through til the morning.


	19. You Owe Me One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur discovers that he loves having a blissed-out Merlin to himself. Even if Merlin does owe him one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Merlin yawned and then looked at Arthur with that crinkly-eyed, dimply, adoring smile that made Arthur think he could probably move several mountains with his bare hands, yes he could, because Merlin believed in him and that was all that mattered.'

# Chapter 19: You Owe Me One

Arthur loved waking up with Merlin in his bed. Merlin never woke up first; he was a heavy sleeper. Arthur could spend as long as he wanted just looking at him. Merlin was a man of contrasts; dark, tangled hair and pale smooth skin; angular bones and curved muscles; fleshy lips and aristocratic, straight nose. Arthur stared, fascinated, at Merlin’s curled chest hair while Merlin’s rib cage expanded and contracted as he breathed.

He couldn’t believe his luck to have this extraordinary man in his bed, and wanted to drink in every moment in case he flew away again, never to return.

Merlin turned in his sleep and Arthur was rewarded for his patience with an uninterrupted view of Merlin’s back – pale skin wrapped round lean muscles, white sheet draped round slender hips. Arthur felt his breath catch at the simple beauty of Merlin’s sleeping form. He wanted to touch Merlin, check he was real, feel his warmth beneath his fingertips, but didn’t want to wake him and spoil the moment.

So he stayed his hand and waited til Merlin’s breathing changed, and, sighing, placed a gentle kiss between Merlin’s shoulder blades. Merlin’s skin smelt of sweat, sex, and the oil they had slathered over themselves for the strip show the night before. Arthur drank it in, eyes closed, humming “mmmmm”.

“W’ssup?” murmured Merlin sleepily, turning over.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” said Arthur. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.” And he checked the clock as he left the bed. 11am. Hmm. Better clean the place up a bit, the girls would be round in an hour or so to check proofs for the calendar, and Merlin had promised to get them brunch—at Arthur’s, so that there would be no danger of running into Monosyllabic Will.

Arthur winced a little as he stepped out of the bed. His arse was sore. He stepped gingerly through the room, picking up evidence as he went. He paused and looked into the mirror. He looked thoroughly shagged out. His hair was at several angles, there were suspicious-looking bruises, bites and fingernail marks littering his torso, and his neck sported a rash of love bites. His chin was pink and chapped with stubble burns. His lips—indeed, the entire vicinity of his mouth—bore the faint stains of Gwaine’s lipstick. He looked debauched. His face broke into a grin as he remembered how very thoroughly his boyfriend had shagged him through the mattress the night before. He felt like he’d won the lottery.

The living room was a morass of discarded underwear, used condoms and condom wrappers. He’d never be able to look at the dining room table without smiling again. And the hallway. God, they’d barely got into the flat before he’d come in his pants, with Merlin’s spunk all over his face. Checking the hall, Arthur grimaced and popped into the kitchen for a cloth, before sticking all their clothes in the laundry and stepping into the shower. All the while Merlin dozed. It had been a long, long night, thought Arthur fondly.

Once Merlin was on his second cup of tea, he looked a bit more compos mentis, and Arthur hustled him off into the shower. It wouldn’t do for the girls to see Merlin in this state, he thought with affection as he smoothed an unruly lock of hair out of Merlin’s face and patted him experimentally on the bare bum. It wouldn’t do for them to encounter this sleepy, compliant creature, who enjoyed planting his face on Arthur’s shoulder and pressing sleepy kisses into Arthur’s neck. No, that wouldn’t do at all. Arthur wanted to keep this adorable, well-fucked version of Merlin all for himself.

By 12, Merlin was restored to a slightly more awake state, by virtue of a third cup of tea and a refreshing shower, and Arthur had busied himself in the kitchen with some eggs and some stale bread. So when the girls turned up it only took him a few minutes to make French toast, which they washed down with coffee while they examined the photoshoot on Arthur’s laptop.

“So,” said Sophia archly. “When did *you* get here then Merlin?”

“Mmm?” said Merlin, absently licking ketchup off his fingers.

“Yeah, Merlin,” said Mithian curiously. “Been here a while?”

“Oh yeah, never made it home!” said Merlin, unthinkingly. Such an innocent, thought Arthur sadly as Gwen’s head swivelled round and her gaze latched onto him like a hungry velociraptor. They’ve got him where they want him, now. They’ve got their chief investigator onto the task.

Gwen dimpled at Merlin, who was working his way hungrily through a third slice of French toast and eyeing a fourth.

“Hungry, are we, this morning?”

“Mmmm,” said Merlin. “Starving.”

Gwen exchanged knowing glances with the other girls.

“Busy night last night then? Lots of. Ermm. Exercise?”

Merlin choked. Arthur sighed, patting his back. He’d better intervene before he had to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on Merlin. Attack is the best form of defence, he thought. Time for a full and frank confession, possibly a little bit of over-sharing, then perhaps Gwen would leave them alone.

“Look, Gwen,” said Arthur. “Guinevere. Before you launch into Spanish Inquisition mode, perhaps it would help if I explained one or two things.”

“Merlin and I are together,” he continued. “Really together. Not just in a good friends, shagging, kind of way. Although we are both of those things. Good friends and shagging I mean. A lot. Shagging a lot. Very good friends. Shagging. A lot.”

Arthur sat next to Merlin on the sofa and put an arm round his shoulders. Merlin, still dreamy-eyed, closed his eyes and sank into Arthur’s embrace. This resulted in a small ketchup deposit on Arthur’s shirt but he didn’t mind. There was an audible “aww” from Mithian.

“No, we’re together in a two-sides-of-one-coin joined-at-the-hip sex-on-a-stick hearts-and-minds shagfest kind of a way. In an ‘if-you-ever-leave-I’ll-die’ sort of way. And I don’t mind who knows it.”

The girls looked all misty-eyed. Merlin’s free arm snaked round Arthur’s waist and he buried his face into Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur continued, looking Gwen in the eye.

“So you don’t need to interrogate my *boyfriend*, Guinevere. He’s tired, and he’s wrung out, and he’s such a dopey idiot, he could choke to death on a piece of eggy bread if you push him too hard, and I don’t want that to happen. Because, as I may have mentioned, I care for this soft-brained idiot, I love him in fact, rather a lot. I love every bone of his skinny, sarcastic, snarky body. I love his bed-hair and his dirty mouth and his priapic reaction to the word “fuck”. And it would be bad if he died.” Arthur leaned forward and looked deeply into Gwen’s eyes.

“It would be bad in an epic, jump-off-a-cliff sort of way, Guinevere, if he choked to death on eggy bread, however delicious, if he died on account of your insatiable curiosity about our love life. Bad.” He leaned in closer. ”And you wouldn’t like that. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience. Would you. Guinevere. ” He enunciated each word more and more distinctly.

Gwen shook her head, mesmerised. Arthur leaned back with a smirk. Merlin yawned and then looked at Arthur with that crinkly-eyed, dimply, adoring smile that made Arthur think he could probably move several mountains with his bare hands, yes he could, because Merlin believed in him and that was all that mattered. Elena blew her nose.

“You two,” she said, lip wobbling, “that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!”

Gwen’s eyes also looked suspiciously moist. She smiled warmly at them.

“I’m glad,” she said simply.

Merlin’s eyes seemed to be closing again, and his head was drooping a bit. Arthur wasn’t particularly surprised; after all Merlin had had 4 orgasms in the last 12 hours, while Arthur had only had 3, which meant that Merlin owed him one, not that he was counting. Obviously. He planted a chaste kiss on Merlin’s unruly black curls and pointed him back at the computer.

“Come on Emrys,” he said. “Time to choose your doom. Which picture of Miss December will be going in the calendar?”

Merlin unfurled a little, and squinted at the screen.

“That one,” he said, finally, still looking a bit dazed.

“Miss December,” had been shot very tastefully. After all a B-flat bass was a very large instrument, and there wasn’t much of Merlin in view behind it. In the shot that Merlin chose, there was a tasteful view of two well-muscled, lanky, hairy legs, one on each side of the instrument. Two pale, well-toned arms were in view, embracing it. Most of Merlin’s face was hidden behind the bell of the instrument, but a shock of black hair showed on one side, together with one high cheekbone. Through gaps between the shiny tubes, glimpses of a slender torso were in view. It was a pretty amazing picture, Arthur thought. He’d like a copy of it. In his bedroom. 

By 12.30, Merlin still hadn’t communicated more than six actual words in a row to anyone although he seemed cheerful and amiable enough. Arthur wondered if he was all right. He took him on one side into the kitchen when they went to make more coffee.

“Merlin?”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you ok?” and he touched Merlin’s face solicitously, kissed him gently on the cheekbone. “You’re very quiet!”

“M’fine!” said Merlin, smiling, touching Arthur's shoulder, running a hand over it appreciatively. “Jus’ tired, and a bit hoarse!”

“Oh!” said Arthur, remembering with a grin. “That!”

“Yes,” said Merlin softly, lips twitching up, “that!” Arthur, remembering “that”, flushed sheepishly, looking at Merlin’s mouth, and then bestowing a kiss upon it.

When they took the coffees back into the lounge the girls were discussing the “Full Monty.”

“It was a great success, boys” said Gwen happily. “We took over nine thousand quid! Well done you!”

“Yeah,” said Freya. “You were all very brave,” and she smiled shyly. Arthur jumped out of his skin. He’d never heard Freya speak before.

“I don’t think Arthur was very brave,” said Merlin. His voice did sound a bit gruff. “He couldn’t wait to get his kit off, he loved it. I think he’s found his metier!” Arthur silently passed him a cup of coffee, grinning. He had enjoyed the strip show. And the after-party, in the privacy of his own flat, with Merlin, and with Gwaine’s lipstick, had been spectacular. 

Gwen took a sip of her coffee. “We can definitely afford a new soprano cornet for Perce now,” she said. “And we can pay to insure the instruments, and pay for the hire of the band room. But we still need a couple more thousand quid before we can afford the trip to the contest.”

“Well let’s sell us some calendars, then,” said Mithian.

“Viv is going to do the printing,” said Gwen. “After she let us down on the day of the photo shoot, she wanted to do something to make amends. So she’s going to let us have a thousand copies cost price.”

“Viv?” said Arthur.

“Yes, Vivian Olafsdottir– we went to school together.”  Arthur frowned. He knew Vivian Olafsdottir – she had been at Morgana’s school. He didn’t realise that Gwen had gone to school with them too. “And then the local Co-op have agreed to sell copies, and so has Cara at the Rising Sun.”

“Great,” said Mithian. “How about getting a few copies out through the Womens Institute? There were loads of the WI in the audience. I’ll ask Alice.”

They chattered for another half hour or so then gathered their stuff together. It was time for an extra band practice today; as only 2 weeks remained until the contest they would be rehearsing most days to get the balance of the band just right. They wandered into the band room on time, for once, and settled down. There was an empty seat on the back row at the beginning of the rehearsal; Mordred appeared ten minutes late, a spiteful pout on his face. He glared at the back of Gwen’s head before settling down to play.

Merlin stopped his warm-up for a moment to oil his third valve, rummaging in Gloria’s case for some valve oil, but failing to find any. Gwaine leaned forward to offer Merlin some with a leer.

“Here, Merlin,” he said, grinning. “Have you run out of lubricant? Been getting through it, have we? Or has the princess used it all?” and he nodded across at Arthur. Merlin just looked startled, and couldn’t even muster a sarcastic reply. Arthur sighed. He thought perhaps he might have sucked all Merlin’s brains out through his cock by accident last night.

During the break there was a surprise for everyone; Uther Pendragon strode through the door, and stood before them with a proud expression on his face.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began. “I have to tell you that I am a happy man today. The band that I grew up with has, through a remarkable expression of teamwork and innovation, turned a corner. I am delighted to be able to announce that the *ahem* performance on Saturday Night, which I am led to believe was a brave and exciting piece of entertainment, has netted a very decent return. After expenses and payment for the use of the theatre, the combination of the ticket sales and the excellent raffle has raised £9862.00 for the band. A fantastic result as I am sure you will agree.”

There was enthusiastic applause, and a wolf-whistle from the direction of the trombone section. Gwaine winced, and asked people to hush, it was hurting his head. Arthur and Merlin exchanged a grin.

“Furthermore, I am led to believe,” continued Uther, voice raised above the din, raising a hand to ask for silence, “I am led to believe that additional funds may be forthcoming after the ladies of the band have marketed their excellent calendar. Thank you all, ladies and gentlemen, for your courage. It is a pleasure to work with you all.

“Our next challenge will be to do our level best at the contest in just over a week’s time. I need not remind you of the importance of this result for the band. We compete for the honour of winning the trophy. The first and second placed bands will not only receive a cash prize, but also get the opportunity to play at the national finals at the Albert Hall. We all want to be there, don’t we?”

Cheers, whistles, whoops, “Yeah”s and (because this was Yorkshire), “Aye lad”s rang round the band room. Gwaine’s forehead crinkled in pain.

“So now, I will bid you goodbye and leave you with the excellent Dr Garah, who will put you through your paces with the test piece.”

But the band, most of whom had sore heads, was not on full form. After they’d fluffed their way in a desultory fashion through the test piece for the third time, Kahill raving at Gaius to “just clench, Gaius, you can get those high notes if you pucker up, man” and at Merlin to “concentrate for fuck’s sake, Merlin, and stop yawning, did you get any sleep at all last night? Don’t answer that,” and after Lance had shouted at Mordred for the fifth time, and Mordred had stormed out in a strop, Kahill called it a day and the band slunk off home with their tails between their legs.

When they arrived back at Arthur’s flat, Merlin was swaying on his feet a little on Arthur’s doorstep and pressed his chin onto Arthur’s shoulder while Arthur was fumbling for the keys. Chuckling, Arthur let him in and guided him to the bedroom.

“Don’t forget, you owe me one, Merlin,” he chided. Merlin regarded him through sleep-heavy eyes.

“C’m’ere,” he croaked. “Let’s see what we can do about that. And they fell onto the bed, chuckling and tickling one another, too tired to turn on the TV.

So what with one thing and another, it wasn’t until Monday that the proverbial excrement spluttered into the metaphorical air-con.


	20. Waterloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin finds his world suddenly turned upside down when he is attacked by the national press for his relationship with Arthur. Aided by his terse flat-mate, Will, he stages a vanishing act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'He couldn’t bear to think that the warm delight that he and Arthur had taken in each other could be broken by the power of words. There was a part of him that wanted to believe that this would not happen, that he could trust Arthur’s feelings for him. But it was all so new, and Merlin was so insecure. He really could not be sure.'

Monday dawned innocently enough. Arthur spruced himself up and packed himself off to work, while Merlin pottered home to change and get ready for a physiology lecture.

Merlin was still feeling rather dazed, but happier than he could ever remember. He’d succeeded where he thought he could fail, he’d been in total control throughout the strip show (vodka notwithstanding), and Arthur, glorious golden Arthur, loved him. He felt elated, buoyed up by the weekend’s events.

He wandered aimlessly down the drizzly street of this shabby northern town, whistling tunelessly and splashing his feet in the puddles. Ranks of Victorian terraced homes marched up and down the hills, proudly stating their individuality through vibrantly coloured front doors. A grin stole onto his face. Dribbles of rain plastered his hair to his face and drifted in wet streaks down his cheeks, dripping off his nose into his mouth. He licked the water, relishing its freshness.

When he got home he was soaked through, so he stripped off and stepped into the shower, the buzz of the pump drowning out any other sounds. He used the opportunity to sing in perfect anonymity. Blues with a Yorkshire twist, he decided. He started with a bawdy rendition of “A rainy night in Grimethorpe,” and then moved onto “Barnsley on my mind”.

You know, if you’d asked him six months ago what made him happy, he’d have said he had modest needs. Playing on his flugelhorn. Listening to the blues. Lusting over cute men on TV. Simple pleasures. And those things still made him happy, oh yes, but now they’d been pushed off their pedestal. Being adored by Arthur Pendragon was his greatest pleasure; it was a white-knuckle ride, a heady experience, it knocked everything else way down the list, and he never wanted it to stop.

He was just getting into a raucous rendition of “Born in Sheffield” (to the tune of “Born in Chicago”) when the first sign appeared that this bubble might be about to burst.

Will was knocking urgently on the door of the shower, which, given his reclusive tendencies, was frankly alarming. Merlin emerged, towel round his waist, face questioning. Will signalled, gravely, in his usual talkative fashion, (he said “Hey!” and beckoned) that Merlin should come and see something on his iPad. Merlin came to see what the fuss was about and stood shocked, mouth open, when he saw a grainy but unmistakeable video of himself snogging Arthur, ripping Arthur’s pants off, and standing in triumph upon the stage with nothing covering his own modesty but a pair of Velcro-fastened leather underpants.

“Fuck,” he choked, wild-eyed. Will nodded, and said “look.” Merlin clicked a link to a well-known daily tabloid newspaper. On the front page was a high-resolution image of himself as Miss December; the link to the video was underneath it. The headline was “ABBA! (Arthur’s Boyfriend Bares All)!” and the caption to the picture read “Pendragon Heir in Shameless Seduction Shock!”

The story went on to describe how “Arthur Pendragon, Uther Pendragon’s only son, heir to the Pendragon millions” had been seduced by “shameless, penniless Irish student and gold-digger Merlin Emrys,” together with speculation about Merlin’s motives, his background, his family and his competencies. The paper described the strip show in lurid detail, and went on to discuss whether Merlin’s appearance in the Calendar Girls shoot signified that he was an exhibitionist, or a hussy, or both.

It was a pretty thorough character assassination. Merlin’s hands trembled as he sat, still clad only in a towel, reading. Tears welled in his eyes. He couldn’t imagine who could possibly hate him so much to do this. Ice gripped his guts.

Well that was it, he thought.

Over the last few weeks Arthur had blasted a trail through Merlin’s carefully constructed emotional facade, had settled under Merlin’s skin as a brilliant, warm, ever-present layer of protection, and the joy of Arthur’s love was present in every breath Merlin took.

But Arthur would not want him any more. For if there was one person whose opinion Arthur valued it was Uther’s. And now? Now Uther’s name had been dragged through the mud in spectacular fashion. These lies about Merlin were all too plausible. Uther would hate Merlin. What would that do to Arthur? He could kiss goodbye to his relationship with Arthur, his place in Albion band, his friendships with Gwen, Lance and Gwaine, the lot. Someone had fucked him over, good and proper, and he had no idea who, or why.

He couldn’t bear to think that the warm delight that he and Arthur had taken in each other could be broken by the power of words. There was a part of him that wanted to believe that this would not happen, that he could trust Arthur’s feelings for him. But it was all so new, and Merlin was so insecure. He really could not be sure.

Will, regarding him sympathetically, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Tea?” he said. Merlin nodded, speechless. There was a hot, burning lump of anxiety building in his gut, spreading through his head. He wanted to crawl into a corner and hide. His skin itched all over and his throat was tight. He padded back to the safety of his room and threw on some clothes, barely bothering to dry himself first.

“Fuck,” he whispered again as his phone began to buzz. Hands shaking, he picked up his phone from his nightstand and switched it off.

Returning to the lounge, he gratefully slurped down the tea that Will thrust into his hand, and peeped out of the window of the flat. He could see several photographers beginning to gather outside.

“Fuck!” he cried, panic whirling round his gut. And now this was no longer about Arthur and him; it was all about needing to run away. “I have to get out of here!”

Will nodded, pointing at himself. “Decoy,” he said.

Merlin could not express his gratitude at that moment. Between them they draped Merlin in every hat, scarf and pair of sunglasses they could find. Just before Will stepped out through the front door Merlin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He and Will had not spoken much, or spent much time together, and yet here was his flat mate preparing himself to run the gauntlet for Merlin. Merlin looked at him searchingly for a moment.

"Will?" he said.

"Mmm?" said Will.

Merlin thought for a bit then squeezed Will's shoulder and smiled.

"Just... thanks, mate."

"No worries," said Will.

As Will strode down the street, a swarm of interested onlookers gathering around him, Merlin slipped out of the fire exit, Gloria in one hand, an overnight bag in the other, and just walked, blindly, for several hours until finally he found his footsteps had brought him to Gaius’s house, where he knocked on the door. Gaius pulled him in and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“Merlin,” he choked, “thank God.”

Merlin fell inside, heart pounding, and said “Please, Gaius, you have to help me.”

“Of course, my boy, of course,” said Gaius. “You must stay here. I will not tell anyone where you are, until you are ready.” Merlin nodded his thanks and, wrapping himself in misery, he shut himself in the spare bedroom.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when there was a knock on the door of the room. He padded over to let Gaius in. Gaius was holding a tray with some veggie curry and rice, and a steaming cup of tea. Merlin didn’t think he could eat anything without puking, but when he smelt the appetising aroma of the curry, he took a few tentative mouthfuls and suddenly realised he was ravenous. Gaius came and sat on the bed while he ate.

“You might like to know,” said Gaius conversationally, “That I have spoken to Arthur to let him know that you are all right but that you wish to be left alone at the moment. I hope that is accurate.” He regarded Merlin with a quizzical eyebrow. Merlin nodded gratefully. He couldn’t bear to see Arthur now that he’d shamed Arthur so dreadfully and so publicly.

“Arthur and I agree that it is likely to be Morgana who has sought to use you to hurt Uther. We think that Mordred has supplied additional details about you to the press.”

“Mordred?”

Gaius nodded and explained that Mordred had also been filming the performance, but had been caught and prevented from going any further.

“Everyone thought that by catching Mordred they had put an end to this nonsense. But it seems that Morgana had a back-up plan.”

Merlin buried his head in his hands. He had never done anything to Mordred, nor to Morgana. How could they hate him so much?

“Meanwhile we think that Vivian, being a friend of Morgana’s, supplied the photograph from the calendar,” Gaius went on. “Arthur, as you may imagine, is having trouble controlling his murderous thoughts towards the three of them.”

Merlin chuckled humourlessly. Yes, he could imagine.

Gaius put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “My boy,” he said, concernedly, “I want you to know that neither Arthur nor I blame you in the slightest for what has happened and you should not blame yourself. Your intentions were honourable. Arthur cares about you a great deal.” Gaius sighed. “In fact, what he said was, 'Gaius please tell that idiot that he’s not to beat himself up about this, and that I bloody love him, OK?'”

Merlin shook his head, but felt a little better. Arthur still loved him, despite the fact that he was a filthy hussy and a gold-digger to boot, if you believed what the Daily Moon said. His mood lightened a little, and he ate a few more mouthfuls of curry. Suddenly a thought occurred to him and he huffed.

“What?” said Gaius.

“Kahill’s going to have kittens,” said Merlin. “I’m not at rehearsal; you’re still here. There are probably press everywhere.”

Gaius sighed. “Yes, it would seem that Morgana’s ploy to disrupt our contest preparation has worked all too well.”

Merlin shook his head. “We should rehearse here, Gaius, you and me.” And so they did the best thing they could to forget their difficulties, which was to lose themselves in making music together.


	21. Just Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is furious. Uther is furious. Morgana is furious. Kahill is furious. There's really a lot of fury in Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'That evil, devious, spiteful, sadistic, witch. That cowardly, pathetic, shitty, green-eyed cow. I’m going to find her and I’m going to fucking kill her. Slowly. I’m going to brand her with her hair tongs and then shove them up her skinny arse. Then I’m going to fucking pull out every single one of her oh-so-perfect black hairs one by one until she is screeching for mercy. And then I’m going to pour fucking acid on her head, kick her fucking teeth in, and break her perfect fucking nose. I’m going to set the bone and cartilage and then I’m going to fucking well do it all again.'

Arthur had been fully appraised of the situation by 8.30am on Monday morning, and he paced round Uther’s office, trying unsuccessfully to swallow his white-hot rage.

“The bitch,” he spat. “That evil, devious, spiteful, sadistic, witch. That cowardly, pathetic, shitty, green-eyed cow. I’m going to find her and I’m going to fucking kill her. Slowly. I’m going to brand her with her hair tongs and then shove them up her skinny arse. Then I’m going to fucking pull out every single one of her oh-so-perfect black hairs one by one until she is screeching for mercy. And then I’m going to pour fucking acid on her head, kick her fucking teeth in, and break her perfect fucking nose. I’m going to set the bone and cartilage and then I’m going to fucking well do it all again. How DARE she do that to Merlin.”

“Arthur…”

“How dare she attack Merlin to get at ME! Of all the cowardly, pathetic, shitty things to do. I’m going to smear her home in excrement. I’m going to find her favourite clothes and shred them. I’m going to fucking KILL HER!”

“Arthur,” said Uther calmly. Arthur’s fists were clenched, his jaw was clenched, his buttocks were clenched. He was one big ball of pent-up anger, and he wanted to smash something.

“How can you be so fucking CALM!” he yelled at his father. He tried his phone again. Merlin’s phone was still going straight to voicemail. He’d hoped to reach him before he found out, but obviously he was too late. He pushed his fingers roughly through his hair.

“Arthur,” Uther tried again. “I realise that Mr Emrys is important to you. Please, sit down and we can work out how to help him.”

Arthur sat down, fury subsiding. He dashed a tear from his eye. He couldn’t believe how far his warped sister would go to hurt his father. Taking an innocent third party, someone unutterably sweet and kind like Merlin, with his magic fingers and his soft heart, to the cleaners; wringing him out, mangling him and hanging him out to dry. Arthur could weep for Morgana, for himself, and most of all for Merlin, who did not deserve this, did not deserve to be fucked over by Arthur and his fucking family.

Arthur did weep. He curled over, put his hands behind his neck and sobbed. Uther waited patiently for him to finish raging and sobbing, and then put a hand round his shoulders, silently handing him a hanky.

“Arthur,” he said while Arthur noisily blew his nose. “I agree with you. Morgana has gone too far this time. She has behaved with dishonour. Although I blame myself for how bitter her feelings towards me have become, she should never have acted in this way. It is time I reconciled myself with her. As for your friend, I will do my utmost to ensure that his reputation is restored.”

Arthur looked up, surprised.

“In addition,” continued Uther, standing up and pacing round the room, “I have to conclude that Mordred has turned against us. I believe the press’s information about Mr Emrys must have come from him.”

“The vicious little bastard,” said Arthur, bile spilling into his throat. Kahill had tried to warn them about Mordred. They should have listened.

At that point there was a buzz on Uther’s intercom and he turned to deal with it. His PA, Elaine, had been filtering calls. She would not be interrupting unnecessarily.

“Yes, Elaine?”

“There is a lady called Freya Dellago here to see you, sir.”

“Send her up, please. Thanks, Elaine.”

Arthur pursed his forehead, puzzled. What would Freya want with Uther? Elaine brought her in, without commenting about the charged atmosphere in the room, Arthur’s tear stains. Freya looked terrified, pinned by the gaze of the two men. She gulped and looked like she was about to run away again when Arthur finally found it in himself to speak. He knelt on the floor next to her.

“Freya,” he said gently, schooling his features into something that he hoped looked unthreatening. “Have you come to tell us something?” Something—maybe the obvious signs of distress on Arthur’s face—must have given her courage to speak then, and she looked at him, a firm set to her chin.

“I have to talk to you about Merlin,” she whispered in a soft Yorkshire burr. Arthur nodded, he hoped reassuringly.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m listening.” Freya’s breath hitched.

“I feel like it’s my fault, you see, that he’s got his picture in the paper.”

“How come?”

“It’s my fault he’s in a picture at all. Because….” She paused again, and then spoke it all at once in a rush. “Because Vivian pulled out of taking pictures, and then I said Merlin would take the pictures, and he did, because he’s so lovely, he’d do anything for anyone.”

Arthur nodded. Merlin was a soft touch, he knew that. People exploited Merlin’s good nature all the time. Chief among the culprits was Arthur himself.

“He wouldn’t have been there at all if I hadn’t asked him,” Freya continued, voice catching a little, “and then when it came to my turn, I couldn’t do it, because of… because of… well, because of sommat that happened to me once, and Merlin, I know it was hard for him, an’ all, but he offered and he was protecting me, so Arthur it is all my fault.” Her eyes, swimming with tears, held his.

“Freya,” Arthur said eventually, as her breathing evened out. “Freya, thank you so much for coming to me.” He reached out a hand, but didn’t cross the distance to touch her. Her hand, hot and dry, hesitantly slipped into his.

“Arthur,” she said, shakily, “I want the people who’ve told all these lies about him to know what sort of a person he really is.” Arthur nodded. He and Uther listened while Freya told him her story – of victimhood and recovery, of depression and self-harm, and of the power of quiet compassion and warmth. And when she finished, he had a whole new appreciation for just what a remarkable man Merlin was. After she had gone, the two Pendragon men exchanged a look. Arthur’s white-hot fury had subsided and settled into a diamond-hard resolve. Morgana would regret what she had done.

Arthur had to swallow his gnawing worry about Merlin, trusting that Gaius would hold his lover’s heart for him while he fixed this family feud for good and all. Gaius had assured Arthur that Merlin was eating, and that he was playing his flugelhorn, but that Merlin didn’t want to see anyone, that he needed some time alone. Arthur was desperate to see Merlin, couldn’t bear Merlin to suffer alone, but forced himself to respect his request for space. He and Uther made their plans and made it through the day.

At rehearsal that night Kahill had a tantrum.

“Where the fuck is my flugelhorn player?” he ranted. “My principal euphonium is missing, and we have not seen my third cornet—what has happened to Merlin, Gaius and Mordred? I can’t rehearse for a contest with half a fooking band!” The rest of the band looked tense and miserable.

When Arthur took him to one side and explained what had happened he was if anything even more enraged. “Fooking Mercia Mills,” he spat. “Fooking Morgana fooking Pendragon. That bitch.”

There were mutters of agreement round the band.

“Kahill, with your permission,” Arthur said, “I’m going to leave early tonight and spend some “family” time with my sister and my father. It’s about time we had a heart to heart.”

Kahill nodded. “Fooking well give her a hard time from me, an’ all,” he said.

And so it was that Arthur and Uther found themselves lurking, at 10pm, in the shadows outside the Mercia Mills band room door while the bandsmen filed out after their own rehearsal. Arthur saw a familiar, tousled head and fought the urge to follow Mordred and punch him, hard, in the face. On top of everything else that traitorous little bastard had defected to Mercia! But he had other fish to fry tonight. Morgana was one of the last to leave, deep in conversation with the blond-haired, kohl-eyed woman Arthur had last seen at the football.

“Good night, Morgause,” Morgana was saying. “The band sounded good tonight. We’re going to cream Albion at the contest. Those bastards won’t know what’s hit them. Plus, we’re not even sure that their pathetic flugel player will ever return.” Arthur’s fists clenched hard in his pocket. “And my poor little brother will be heartbroken if he doesn’t. Aww! My bleeding heart! See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Morgana,” said the other woman, laughing as she walked in the opposite direction.

Morgana turned and stopped dead when Uther stepped out in front of her.

“Morgana,” Uther began, “I wish to have a word with you.” Morgana frowned.

“No,” she said. “I’ve had it with you, Father.” She spat at his feet, face contorted with spite. She turned to walk away only to find herself trapped by a stone-faced Arthur.

“Morgana,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm although his blood was boiling. “I also wish to have a word with you. And neither of us will leave you alone until we have spoken.”

Morgana looked uncertain, trapped, then enraged, but finally accepted the situation.

“Very well,” she said, eventually. “Fine, but we are going to do this in the band room, I refuse to go anywhere near your house, Father.”

She let them all into the empty Mercia Mills band room. It was larger than the Albion room, and more lavishly equipped. All manner of expensive percussion equipment was in one area of the room; there were timpani, a glockenspiel, a drum kit, a xylophone, a vibraphone, tubular bells, and a piano. The equipment all looked brand new. She gestured to some chairs. “Be my guests,” she said, pouting venomously, settling down herself. “This should be funny.”

Arthur fought the fury that rose in his gorge; he schooled his features into a mask of controlled anger. He remained standing.

“Morgana,” he started. “Let me tell you a story.”

He kept his voice steady, maintained eye contact with her, and told her the story that Freya had bravely related to him. Freya had relived a terrible ordeal in her desire to restore Merlin’s good name. Arthur was not going to let her courage be in vain. No, he was going to force Morgana to understand exactly what Freya had gone through, and how Merlin had helped Freya to put herself together again, so that Morgana fully understood the calibre of man she had wronged.

“One day a young lady named Freya was walking on a street very near this one,” began Arthur, setting the scene. “She was on her way to a rehearsal, without a care in the world, when she encountered two men. They followed her down the street. Nervous, she hurried her step. They matched her pace and when she walked past an alleyway one of them caught up with her and dragged her down it.”

Morgana frowned, wrong footed. Perhaps she had expected Arthur to rant at her, to flay her with his temper. Well the time for ranting and wailing was over.

“The other man produced a knife. They cut her with it, and threatened to kill her if she didn’t comply. They forced her to perform unspeakable acts. They raped her, laughing, telling her she was ugly, a whore, an animal, a worthless sack of shit, that she deserved what was happening to her, that she was enjoying it. They cut her more. They left her for dead, bleeding and unconscious. A passer-by, seeing the blood leaking out of the alleyway, found her. She was taken to hospital.”

Morgana was staring at Arthur.

“Why are you telling me this?” she said. “What has it got to do with me?”

“Be quiet and listen, Morgana” snapped Uther. Arthur continued.

“When she was finally well enough in body to return home, she returned to her flat. Her flat-mate found her one morning in the bath, with both wrists cut. She nearly died again. This time when she was released from hospital she was referred to the Camelot rape crisis centre.

“At the rape crisis centre she met one of the volunteers there, someone who’d had a similar ordeal to hers and lived to tell the tale. Suddenly she didn’t feel so alone. There was another person like her. With this person’s help she began to understand her worth once more.”

Morgana still looked confused.

“He calmed her over the phone, listened all night long if she needed it, to her fears and her insecurities, her self-loathing. He rescued her from her panic attacks and held her hands through her crises. He cried with his friend when she was upset, begged her to eat when she was unable to face food, brought her green tea and Jammy Dodgers in the middle of the night when she couldn’t bear to be alone.

“Tell me, Morgana, what sort of person do you think behaves in that way. Does that sound like…” and he pulled out a copy of the offending newspaper, reading verbatim from highlighted text “a man-whore, exhibitionist, gold-digger, and chancer, with an eye on the Pendragon fortune?” He turned a page, ostentatiously licking a finger to alight on another paragraph.

“Or maybe, Morgana, this person sounds like a ‘talentless, opportunistic nonentity.” He shook his head. “Big words for a trashy tabloid, don’t you think?”

He folded the paper up, put it back into his bag. “Which one of those descriptions do you think fits him best?”

Morgana swallowed.

“Yes, Morgana,” Arthur went on. “That person, Morgana,” his voice cracked a little, “that person was coincidentally the very same person whose picture you have plastered all over the national press this week, claiming that their name was not worth the paper it was printed on.”

He leaned forward and fixed her limpid green eyes with his determined sapphire gaze.

“Fuck you, Morgana,” he said, so emphatically that she flinched.

“You know, I could maybe understand if you’d done this to me. I could think about looking at things from your perspective. But the fact is that you have chosen to attack someone else to get at me. Someone you don’t even know. Uncaringly you took his good name, chopped it up and fed the pieces to the wolves. What does that say about you, Morgana?

“Knowing him, the soft-hearted sap will forgive you and move on. I am less merciful. I will NEVER forgive you for hurting him. But in the meantime, the question I have for you, Morgana, is this.

“Can you ever forgive yourself?”

Morgana’s eyes were huge. She blinked once. Arthur stood and nodded at his father.

“Your turn, Father,” he said. He walked out of the room without looking back.

~#~  
At Gaius’s suggestion Merlin finally plucked up the courage to leave the house on Wednesday, but he avoided the band room, his flat and his university lectures in case he was chased by any press people. And so it was that he found himself at the Black Dragon, ripping into old blues favourites. He felt a little better afterwards, although the rest of the punters in the Black Dragon had seemed a little startled at times by the ferocity of his playing. Not so much blues, he thought, as some sort of angry blues-inspired catharsis.

It wasn’t Arthur he was angry with, but still he didn’t feel he could face Arthur. He felt so confused and anxious; his skin felt too tight, his whole body itched, his throat felt full. He was on the edge of tears the whole time. He felt like he’d aged ten years in two days. The only thing that helped, a little, was playing his beloved flugelhorn.

It was while he was packing Gloria into her bag that he noticed Kahill standing over at the bar. He hadn’t been singing that evening, he must have been listening or something. Merlin sighed. It seemed word would get round to the rest of the band about his wheareabouts. He should probably go. He didn’t want to face Arthur, not yet. He was dirty and worthless; he was not good enough for Arthur. He knew it was stupid to feel these things, but he couldn’t help it. It was in print, all over the front page of the newspapers, how shameless and degraded he was, and this reinforced his almost overwhelming sense of panic.

He turned to slip out of the pub, resolving to call in on his counsellor in the morning and see if she could help him make sense of his conflicted feelings. But there was a solid figure blocking his path.

Uther Pendragon.

Merlin’s panic, never far away, rose to the surface; he backed away instinctively. But to his utter bewilderment, Uther stopped in his tracks and held up both hands, stepping to one side. Merlin’s heart rate settled subsided a little as he saw Gaius, a comforting figure, step in beside Uther.

“Mr Emrys,” said Uther quietly. “I wondered if I could have a word with you? I totally understand if I am actually the last person you wish to see at the moment, but it would be a great courtesy and an honour for me if you would give me ten minutes of your time, after which I will not bother you any further.”

Merlin backed round the table, making sure it was between him and Uther, gulped and nodded at a chair. He didn’t think he could speak, his breath was coming in great sobs. He felt trapped, cornered. Uther deliberately moved round the table so that Merlin had a clear escape route to the door.

“I do not wish to upset you, Mr Emrys,” said Uther softly. “Here, please sit. I will not prevent you from leaving if and when you wish. Gaius will take you home whenever you ask.”

By a great effort of will Merlin settled at the edge of a chair, one eye on the door. He bit his lip to stop it trembling.

“Mr Emrys,” said Uther again.

“M… Merlin, call me Merlin, please.”

Uther nodded his thanks.

“Merlin. I understand your trepidation at meeting me. We have not always seen eye to eye.”

That’s an understatement, thought Merlin. The last time they had exchanged words Merlin had ushered Uther unceremoniously out of Arthur’s flat.

“I appreciate you having the courage to stand up to me when my son was unwell and needed some recovery time,” he continued. Merlin was incredulous. Hearing Uther admit that someone else had been right was like watching water flow uphill.

“Nevertheless,” Uther was fidgeting with his tie, “Nevertheless, I wish to make it clear that I am not here to make you uncomfortable in any way, but instead to apologise for the appalling position you have been put in by members of my family, and in particular by my daughter, Morgana, whom I fear is responsible for your current predicament.”

He sighed and shook his head. Merlin stood with his mouth gaping open like a whale shark.

“Mr Emrys. Merlin,” began Uther again. “You have been grievously wronged by a member of my family. I blame myself for her behaviour. I wish to apologise on her behalf and if possible to make amends. But first, kindly permit me to tell you something?”

Merlin looked up and nodded for Uther to continue.

“Many years ago, when Arthur was 17 years old, my wife Ygraine died by her own hand. I loved her more than I can possibly say. She was so beautiful, so graceful, so…” Uther shook his head. “I miss her more and more every day. I wonder what I could have done to help her. Could I have prevented her from descending into an abyss of depression and eventual suicide? I did everything I could have thought of, everything, but it was not enough.”

“I’m sorry,” said Merlin. Uther nodded in acknowledgement.

“It was partly as a response to this terrible loss that I donated a substantial sum of money to start up the Camelot Rape Crisis Centre in Ygraine’s memory. I am proud to say that it has helped many women, and men, since then. I wish it had been there to help her, but it is a small comfort that her death has been a catalyst that has led many others to be helped. I understand that you work there from time to time as a volunteer in the victim support group. Please know that I am profoundly grateful. ”

Uther paused and looked down at his fingers.

“I didn’t pay much attention to what came out in the press on Monday. Being in the public eye, as I am, I have developed a remarkably thick skin when it comes to reading about myself and my family in the press. I am well aware of my son’s sexual orientation. While he has always had my full support in that regard, there those who, assuming that I am homophobic, seek to use Arthur’s sexual orientation to drive a wedge between us. Such people are fools.”

He paused and coughed.

“On Monday I was visited by a very courageous young lady named Freya, who, feeling herself somewhat responsible for your situation, told me her story and yours—which, I assure you, I will never reveal to another living soul.”

Merlin could see the pub clock, attached to the dingy brown wall behind Uther’s head. The second hand was ticking inexorably. The minute hand inched towards the number twelve. Uther had been speaking for eight minutes, he thought inconsequentially.

“It is greatly to your credit, that, despite your past experiences, you have been involved in initiatives to raise so much money for the band that I care so deeply about, and that, participating in the photo shoot, you placed yourself in the firing line once more in order to protect a young lady who had suffered so tragically at another’s hands.

“It seems to me that my family owes you a debt of great gratitude, and therefore it is doubly upsetting that it should be my own daughter who has put you into this difficult position.

“I believe that as a result of your past experiences you may feel that you are in some way tainted or unworthy. Make no mistake, in my eyes you are a brave and principled man, a man of honour and talent. I have heard you play the flugelhorn. Gaius speaks very highly of you. I believe that a bright future awaits you. I would be proud to welcome you into my family.”

“Thank you,” said Merlin quietly, his mood brightening. He could feel the pressure in his chest lifting, minutely, with every breath. Uther had been speaking for nine minutes.

“I want you to know that I have issued a press release. If tomorrow’s tabloids choose to run with it, the press release will formally state my complete support for my son’s relationship with you. I have brought you a copy.”

Uther slid a brown envelope across the table to Merlin, who took it without comment.

“I understand if you wish to sever ties with the Pendragon family after what we have done to you. But please, before you do so, please consider this. My son, Arthur, is deeply attached to you. He is extremely concerned for your welfare and I know he misses you greatly. The love of my life was tragically taken from me by a rapist, a monster. I couldn’t bear it if the same were to happen to my son. When I spoke to him this evening, he bid me to ask you to consider coming back to him, on your own terms. He also asked me to give you this.”

Just as Uther had been speaking for precisely ten minutes, he extracted a brown paper bag from his pocket. Peering inside, Merlin saw a Jelly Baby and a note. When Uther stood up and turned to leave the pub, Merlin sat still and watched him, turning the unopened note over.

“Wait,” he called out, rising to his feet. “Mr Pendragon,”

“Uther, please,” said Uther.

Merlin gulped. “Uther,” it didn’t sound right coming from his mouth. “I never blamed Arthur for this. But thank you, I really appreciate you taking the time to explain.” Uther paused, nodded and pressed the dark wooden door, heading out into the night. Gaius sat quietly by Merlin’s side, waiting, eyebrows neutral for once. Merlin absently popped the solitary Jelly Baby into his mouth, and, chewing, stared at the note for a long time before opening it. It stated simply:

_If you want another one, just pop round—A_

_X_

And for the first time in three days Merlin’s face broke into wreaths of smiles.

Then he opened the press release. It read as follows:

> ~~PRESS RELEASE issued by Uther Pendragon, CEO of Camelot Coal Ltd. and Non-Executive Director of Pendragon Enterprises Ltd. on XXth day of March, 2013~~
> 
> It was with great sadness that I read the wholly inaccurate and biased portrayal of my son’s partner, Mr Merlin Emrys, in yesterday’s “Daily Moon”. Contrary to this unfair portrait, I have come to learn that Mr Emrys, is in fact a courageous and principled young man who has overcome great personal challenges to become a successful musician and hard-working student. He has a bright future ahead of him. I would be privileged and proud to welcome him into my family. I wish it to be known that the scurrilous rumours being spread about him and his motives are absolutely baseless, as anyone who knows him will doubtless confirm.”  
>  ~~

Merlin huffed, unbelievingly, at these kind words and felt his cheeks glow in their warmth.

~#~

Arthur was just preparing to spend another sleepless night worrying about Merlin when his doorbell and his phone buzzed at the same time.

The message on the phone read

_jelly bayB_

Heart in his mouth, he ran to the door and opened it. Merlin stood on the threshold, a shy smile on his face. Arthur stepped back, holding out both hands. Merlin grasped them and pulled himself in through the door, stepped into Arthur’s personal space, and put his chin on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Arthur,” he said.

“Idiot,” Arthur replied, blinking rapidly to chase the sting away from his eyes. Merlin snorted, lifting his chin, looking at Arthur, hands still linked.

“Prat,” he rejoindered. Arthur started to laugh, and stopped before it could turn into a sob.

“I was worried about you, you soft-brained, Irish turnip-head,” he huffed, trying not to let his lip wobble and his voice crack. Failing.

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t face any posh gits for a day or two. But I’m all right now.”

And Arthur wanted to say, don’t run away from me, don’t leave me again, I couldn’t bear it, but he didn’t. He didn’t need to. His face said it all. When the heat of Merlin’s gaze became too much, when the endless well of Arthur’s tears threatened to spill over the rims of his eyes, Arthur closed them and dropped his head, but Merlin tilted his chin up and kissed his eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin repeated, his voice catching a little. “I should have trusted you… I just thought… I was worried that you wouldn’t want me any more, and I couldn’t bear to find that out.”

“Merlin, you really are a colossal numpty,” said Arthur affectionately. “It’s a bloody good thing you are addicted to Jelly Babies, otherwise I would never get through that thick cranium of yours that I love you to distraction, you dim-witted numbskull.”

Merlin laughed, only a little bit shakily, murmured “love you too, you arrogant, stuck-up, privileged, upper-class, wide-shouldered, pert-buttocked prick,” and gathered Arthur’s wide shoulders up into his arms, and really Arthur couldn’t be sad any more.

Even if he did have to stop kissing Merlin for a moment to find a hanky and blow his nose, and even if a moment later Merlin had to fish in his pocket for his phone and fire off a text to reassure Gaius that he was fine, and he was at Arthur’s, and could Gaius possibly please let Will and Freya know he was OK?

And even if they’d run out of condoms, and lube, and they were reduced to dry-humping as they snogged, like teenagers, in the hallway; even when Merlin was exhausted, and fell asleep on his feet, in the hallway, which was just the most adorable thing ever, because Merlin *trusted* him, and Arthur had to carry him to the bed and curl his legs up so that his feet didn’t stick out of the end of the duvet, and peel off his t-shirt so that Merlin was clad only in his “Simpsons” underpants; even when Merlin was snoring little tiny snorts in each breath, so that he sounded like an out-of-breath pony, which Arthur was *really* looking forward to telling Merlin about in the morning; even then, Arthur couldn’t be sad, because at that precise moment he was exactly where he wanted to be.


	22. The Name Of The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK folks, let's knuckle under, we have a contest to prepare for. Go ABBA!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Edwin was living up to his reputation as the Band Bore. He had Mithian cornered. “Ah yes,” he pontificated. “I believe that it was in 1978 that Mercia Mills last won the Championship section. ‘Aristophanes’ was the test piece. Andrew Loudmouth was the Euphonium soloist as I recall. Of course, he learned his technique from Bob Gracenote. Superb technician, Bob was. Cut his teeth in the Salvation Army. They don’t make ‘em like that any more.” He adjusted his cloth cap and took a sip of his tea.'

When both Arthur and Merlin turned up, uncharacteristically early, to Thursday’s rehearsal, nobody remarked on it, but the mood in the band room perked up considerably, and even further when, 2 minutes later, Uther strode into the room, cornet in hand, and sat in Mordred’s recently vacated Third Cornet chair. With one week to go before the contest there was finally a full complement of 25 brass players, 3 percussionists, and a musical director in the band room. Kahill beamed from ear to ear.

Before the rehearsal started, Gwen, all a-dimple, brought out a package wrapped in gold wrapping paper and presented it to Percival. To the accompaniment of whoops and more traditional Yorkshire round of applause, Percival accepted the package and ripped into it enthusiastically. He pulled a shiny new soprano cornet out of the instrument case, and kissed it soundly before holding it up into the air like a trophy. “Yes!” he crowed. “I name this sop… Hermione!”

Leon rolled his eyes. “That’s as close as you’ll ever get to Emma Watson, Perce, you gurt big loon,” he muttered.

When they ran through “Harmony Music” without a glitch, Kahill’s eyes were suspiciously moist.

Merlin had been a little apprehensive about the rehearsal, wondering whether people would be treading on eggshells around him, or making pointed remarks about his “gold-digging” propensities, and not sure which would be worse. He sat and fiddled with Gloria’s valves and tuning slides, trying to ignore Gwaine who was waving and mugging to get his attention. In the end he steeled himself and turned to meet Gwaine’s enquiring gaze.

“Wassup?” said Merlin.

“It’s my birthday next week,” said Gwaine, sniggering, “And I wondered if you wanted an idea for a present? Because to be honest, I read in the paper that you were about to come into some money, and some bastard has walked off with my lipstick, I wondered if you wouldn’t mind buying me some new…!”

Merlin snorted. Trust Gwaine to make an inappropriate remark. And to be honest, if Gwaine couldn’t make an inappropriate remark at rehearsal, then there’s something very wrong with the world.

“Gwaine,” he said, “Whoever took that lippy had your own best interest at heart. Shameless Scarlet isn’t really your colour. I’ll get you some Cheeky Cherry instead.”

“Cheeky Cherry?” said Lance, ears pricking as he joined the conversation. “More like Raunchy Raspberry!”

“Ribald Rose?” suggested Percival.

“Smutty Strawberry,” said Leon.

Gwaine stuck his tongue out at them all. Merlin laughed, gratefully.

The band congregated in the Rising Sun after rehearsal, and Merlin inhaled the familiar, mingled scent of stale beer and cheese-and-onion crisps with a sense of homecoming. It felt like a lifetime since he had last set foot in its shabby interior. Cara stood behind the bar polishing glasses and Gwaine was the first to order Merlin a vodka and cranberry. “You’re paying, moneybags,” he winked. Merlin laughed. 

Gwen sidled over, uncharacteristically quiet until Merlin elbowed her in the ribs and said “how’s it going, oh great leader!” which earned him a grateful dimple.

“As it happens, Merlin,” she said hesitantly, “It’s going really well. We can’t seem to keep up with demand for the calendar actually!”

“That’s great,” said Merlin.

“I can’t help feeling a little bit guilty,” said Gwen biting her lip. “I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have sold anywhere near as many if it hadn’t been for all the publicity. You know.” Merlin knew all right. He wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this, and filed it away in his head under “later”.

“We’re wandering if there was some charity we could donate the extra proceeds to,” she went on. “We thought maybe Camelot Rape Crisis?” and she peered up at him from under her eyelashes to gauge his reaction. He nodded and pursed his lips.

“OK,” he managed to say. “That’s good, I think?”

On the day of the contest the band felt confident and well prepared. The coach delivered them at an ungodly hour in the morning to the concert hall, a grand venue, the entrance of which was packed with a veritable Aladdin’s cave of trade stands selling sparkly new instruments and unplayed music. Merlin hovered, entranced, near a stand selling second-hand flugelhorns until Arthur dragged him away.

“Come on,” he said. “We can’t have you flirting with those like a lovesick puppy, Gloria will get jealous.”

All ten competing bands would be playing the same test piece. To prevent adjudicator-nobbling, or other underhand tactics, the adjudicators would sit behind a curtain and listen to the bands play in a random order, so that they could not identify who was playing, and would judge each band, without bias, on its performance alone. Once the adjudicators were hidden away a random draw determined the playing order.

Naturally each band prayed for an early draw. The earlier they played, the earlier they could go to the pub and quaff vats of local beer. But there was a sting in the tail; the first drawn band would have to play the National Anthem, as well as the test piece. Opinion was divided as to whether this constituted a useful warm-up opportunity, or inevitable defeat.

This time-honoured setup was well known to all three hundred or so Championship-section bandsmen at the venue, not to mention their assorted hangers-on—wives, husbands, significant others, children, and the occasional whippet. In addition, there were further contests for less accomplished bands, who were also competing for prizes in their own sections and the opportunity to be promoted and, if everything went swimmingly, be crowned national champions. So all in all, there would be about 1500 thirsty bandsmen jostling for a position at the bar by the end of the day, which made the early draw all the more important.

So it was that Leon, Percival, Elyan and Gwaine were to be found sitting in a huddle, cups of “Taylors of Harrogate Yorkshire Tea” in hand, with their fingers crossed. “We’re hoping to be drawn 2 or 3,” they explained. Merlin nodded and passed round a packet of Jammy Dodgers. They munched appreciatively, brushing crumbs from their band uniforms. The band uniform consisted of a dress jacket in bright blue, with gold piping. Merlin and Arthur, as new members of the band, had picked up the uniforms left by previous players—which meant that they didn’t really fit. Arthur’s uniform was a bit tight round the shoulders, while Merlin’s had been stretched in the chest area by a previous owner, and hung off him rather loosely. Nevertheless, Arthur couldn't help noticing how the blue of the jacket brought out the colour of Merlin's eyes.

Meanwhile, Edwin was living up to his reputation as the Band Bore. He had Mithian cornered. “Ah yes,” he pontificated. “I believe that it was in 1978 that Mercia Mills last won the Championship section. ‘Aristophanes’ was the test piece. Andrew Loudmouth was the Euphonium soloist as I recall. Of course, he learned his technique from Bob Gracenote. Superb technician, Bob was. Cut his teeth in the Salvation Army. They don’t make ‘em like that any more. ” He adjusted his cloth cap and took a sip of his tea. Mithian, eyes slightly glazed and vacant, was nodding. He took this as encouragement and carried on.

“Yes, the Principal Cornet player at Mercia – who was it now?” he racked his encyclopedic brain for a moment. “Ah yes, Mimi McDiddlySquat. She won the soloist prize. Terribly controversial. She played a Beeswax Gargleblaster Assymptote, with a Vickery Doodlepants size 21B mouthpiece. Extraordinary depth of tone.” And to Merlin’s growing amusement at Mithian’s expression, Edwin started to demonstrate, sans instrument, in an off-key voice, the articulation and fingering for “Aristophanes”, holding Mithian’s gaze all the while.

“Yes, she preferred the tataka tataka triple tonguing technique rather than the takata takata technique,” Edwin droned on. “Of course, in Aristophanes, this can trip up even the most accomplished player. I remember my old friend Siegfried Ubersignificant from Shameless Namedrop Band, national champions in 1962 of course, old Siggy always used to say, around bar 562 of the piece, it’s really critical to use more of a ‘dadaga’ than a ‘tataka’ articulation. Like this: ‘dadaga dadaga da, dadaga dadaga GAH’…”

Elena took pity on Mithian at this point. “Come along Mithian,” she said, hurriedly, before Edwin could treat Mithian to a bar-by-bar account of the entire 1978 test piece played in two contrasting styles. “Time to erm. Oil. Our valves.”

As Mithian was dragged away, Edwin looked around for another victim, and his gaze lit upon Gwen. With a happy smile he edged closer to her. She hurriedly got up. “Just got to go and find Lance…”

Arthur and Merlin were brimming with mirth at this entertaining display when Arthur’s eyes widened, and he became totally still, focussing on something over Merlin’s right shoulder. Merlin turned to see what Arthur was looking at and found himself staring up into a pair of green eyes.

“Morgana,” said Arthur, nodding icily. “Mordred.”

They were clad in Mercia Mills band jackets—purple with gold piping. Morgana ignored Arthur and approached Merlin directly. She looked strangely uncertain when she spoke.

“Merlin Emrys? I don’t believe I have had the pleasure?” She stretched out a hand for him to shake.

Merlin nodded his head, but put one hand in his pocket, and held on to Arthur’s with the other. She withdrew hers, sighing.

“I wish to apologise to you. I used you to get back at Arthur, and it was not the right thing to do. I had hoped you could forgive me, but I understand if not.” Her voice tailed off and she started walk away, but then turned back to them.

“Arthur?”

Arthur returned her gaze, his eyes unflinching. She swallowed and looked down at her immaculate nails. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking up, and then turned away again. At that point Gaius returned to the room and the Albion Brass Band Amateurs straightened their pink-and-gold “ABBA” ties, awaiting his announcement. He held up two fingers. “Second,” he crowed. Leon punched the air. Elyan jumped up and hugged Gwaine.

ABBA would be the second band to play. This was excellent news. Albion would not have to play the national anthem, and with any luck they would have finished playing by noon, which meant they could have a liquid lunch. By the time the prizes were announced they would all be knee deep in Best Bitter, in the finest Yorkshire tradition, with the possible exception of Merlin, who would probably be knee deep in some vile, pink concoction.

The performance of the test piece was strangely anticlimactic after all the preparation and drama of the last few weeks. Albion played as Kahill had required them to do; the only major fluff came from Percival, who split a top note on Hermione, his new soprano cornet. After the final note had finished ringing round the room, while the audience surged to their feet in a cacophony of applause, Kahill frowned at Percy and mimed “Your round!”

And then there was a good 3 hour interval in which very little other than steady drinking was able to occur. Percival paid for the first round, to compensate for his fluffed high note. At one point a game of poker broke out in a corner, but as the bar became busier with drunken bandsmen from all 5 sections, pretty soon it was standing room only.

By 3 o’clock, when they all shuffled back into the auditorium, the band were looking decidedly dishevelled. Shirts were untucked, jackets were unbuttoned, ties were skewiff.

Gaius went up onto the stage with the other contest secretaries to wait for placements to be announced. This year’s prize would be presented by a well-known brass banding celebrity called Bert Wigwam, from the illustrious Wigwam family. When he stood up on the stage the audience gradually hushed, which was impressive given the volume of beer that was in every single gut in the room. He held up an unsteady finger.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to announce, in reverse order, the names of the bands that have performed so splendidly as to deserve a prize today,” he began, rocking onto his patent-leather clad heels, and thrusting his impressively sized beer belly forwards towards the audience.

“In third place, with 85 points, the band that was drawn number 5, Mercia Mills Brass Band. Well done Mercia! And here to collect the prize is the band secretary Ms Morgause Avalon. Well done Mercia!”

The audience, with the pointed exception of the area in which the Albion players were gathered, clapped politely. The Albion contingent crossed their arms and scowled – no mean feat after 8 pints of Timothy Taylor’s potent magic potion.

“In second place, with 86 points, for a cash prize and for the privilege of playing at the National Finals at the Albert Hall in October, the band that was drawn number 2. Would the secretary for Albion Brass Band Amateurs, Mr Gaius Apotek, please come and collect the prize?”

Amid loud, raucous cheers and drunken shushing noises, Gaius went to collect the prize money and stand, slightly lopsidedly, eyebrows arched, next to Morgause.

“And in first place, with 87 points, the band who will be holding aloft the trophy, and taking home a substantial cash prize, not to mention the opportunity to compete at the National Finals in October, a surprise win for the band drawn 9th, DAB, newly promoted from the First Section this year! Congratulations to DAB for this impressive achievement. Would the band secretary Mr Matthew Crawley please come and collect your prize!”

Albion band members and Mercia band members alike exchanged baffled looks. They had assumed that this was a two-horse race. Who were these upstarts DAB, newly promoted from the First Section? Merlin cast a puzzled look across at Leon, who leaned over and whispered “Downton Abbey Band. Rumour has it they play cricket?”

Merlin was none the wiser. Oh well, he thought. You win some, you lose some. And at least we get to play at the national finals.

At the bar afterwards, Albion immediately resumed their celebrations. After all, even though they had no trophy, they had a fat cheque, and they had beaten Mercia Mills, and they would be going to the national finals in September.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Lance, and Arthur led the singing.

"Albert Hall!" they sang lustily in an approximation of five part harmony, "Albert Hall! We're the famous Albion Brass Band Amateurs and we're going to the Albert Hall!"

“All right everyone,” shouted Leon above the din. “How are we going to pay for the coach down to London then eh?”

“I know,” yelled Merlin. “How about a naked, Abba-themed magic show?”

Arthur stared at him, mid-flow, mouth open in horror.

“Only kidding,” said Merlin, nudging Arthur with his elbow and smirking into his pink drink.

~#~

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Brass bands do compete for the prestigious title of "National Champions", and Yorkshire is indeed the centre of the Brass Band Universe. "Harmony Music" by Philip Sparke was the 2013 Championship Section test piece, played by every Championship Section band competing for a regional title. Carlton Main Frickley were this year's surprise contest winners in Yorkshire.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, nor do I own Brassed Off, the Full Monty, Calendar Girls, or Philip Sparke. I'm just playing and will never get paid for this.


End file.
